


Frames of Reference

by Kirilee



Series: Symplectic AU [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence AF, Capella IV, Classical Music - not the kind from STB, Easter Eggs, Grief/Mourning, Hope, ST:TOS s2e11 Friday's Child, hand wavy medical and science stuff, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirilee/pseuds/Kirilee
Summary: As they move forward in Starfleet Academy life, Jim and Leta also find they are compelled to look back.  They realize that branching out will not be possible if they don't tend to their roots.  Will that be enough to get them through challenges at the Academy, in the black, and in themselves?Part 2 starts with Chapter 6.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Winona Kirk & Eleanora McCoy
Series: Symplectic AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035996
Kudos: 8





	1. A Breeze By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and ratings will change as the fic progresses. Mature rating for language. Updates will be irregular, although I will try not to make you wait too long between them. This fic has two parts and the transition between the parts will be obvious. I hope you will hang in there for the later chapters. 
> 
> This fic can be read without needing to read _The Walk_ in its entirety, but doing so would make some of the background a little clearer. Either way, please enjoy! Many thanks for your support. Any feedback is sincerely appreciated.
> 
> Disclaimer: I take no ownership of, nor do I profit from, the Star Trek franchise, though I am grateful for the inspiration.

The breeze known as Jim Kirk blew into Leta McCoy’s dorm room a lot over their first year at Starfleet Academy, occasionally the prelude to a storm and ultimately the winds of change. She would only admit it out loud under duress, not wanting to inflate his bluster, but Jim was always a breath of fresh air.

During the first semester, Jim regularly claimed space on the floor of the doctor’s single unit for study and sometimes crashed on the couch for sleep. Leta allowed it because it didn’t seem right not to kick back together when they had kicked butt together in Riverside. In practical terms, she wasn’t in her dorm a lot of evenings, what with med shifts and labs after classes, so Jim’s presence was not an inconvenience, except when he came in full of piss and vinegar – and injuries.

Fortunately for his face, Jim’s bar fights became less frequent over time. The enthusiasm of others for picking a fight with Jim, an outlet for jealousy at his personal recruitment by Captain Pike ( _“Pike’s Pet”_ ) and his parentage ( _“the_ Kelvin _baby”_ ), faded a little more with each round of quizzes, tests, and papers, as Jim showed he _really was_ the smartest one in the room. In the month preceding the terrorist incident, it was Leta’s turn to be an outcast. How Jim ended up in Starfleet became yesterday’s news. His defensiveness and swagger ratcheted down slowly as his reputation redefined itself.

After coming in from the proverbial cold, Leta was warmed by Jim’s frequent company for a few weeks. As the second semester progressed, though, hanging together didn’t happen as often because Jim had an over-full schedule, trying to graduate at the top of his class in just three years. Whatever the frequency, Leta found that opening the door to the domesticity of Jim propped up against her sofa with study PADDs around him, and hearing greetings instead of silence, was a balm to her burnout as she gradually returned to her previous obligations.

As Leta eased off medications in her recovery, a whole herd of PTSD nightmares reared their ugly heads. Despite nightmares being a predictable withdrawal symptom, Leta couldn’t help longing for a certain reassuring presence nearby whenever she startled awake from a bad dream and stumbled out to the kitchen. Then she scoffed at her own childishness for not being able to cope with dreams and at her naïveté for imagining that Jim would want to be her roommate. No way was she going to let on about how she felt and have him offer to room with her out of pity.

If Leta could have gotten out of her own way, she would have seen that pity was the furthest thing from Jim’s mind.

Right out of the gate, Jim insisted that the atmosphere in Bones’ single was quieter than in his own double dorm. His first semester roommate snored like something out of an old horror vid. When the second semester person assigned to room with Jim (it seemed almost heresy to call him a roommate) augmented sound with smell, the list of positive attributes for Bones’ unit included body-odorless bouquet. McCoy’s place was focused and funk-free.

Second-Semester guy made sure to presage everything he did in the dorm with a noise from one end of his anatomy or another. He was maestro of his own smooth muscle symphony. Worse yet, since his name was Carson Colon, the jokes wrote themselves. Jim’s urge to indulge in epigastric epigrams was so strong that he feared being accused of harassment by just having a conversation with the man. 

Whenever he didn’t have to go to his dorm room for personal items, and when he wasn’t busy with classes and TA hours and fitness requirements and study groups and research, Jim ghosted into Bones’ room. The brutal schedule ensured he wasn’t there very often, not until classes ended and the study break prior to second semester final exams began. Then he haunted the place on a daily basis. Their schedules coincided several evenings in a row when even Starfleet Medical backed off from assigning shifts to cadets during the two weeks before finals. 

After three days of camping out with Bones, Jim couldn’t hold back his frustration at the thought of going back to another shitty living situation for the summer and beyond. A recent message from the housing office had given him an opportunity to wrangle a living situation he could actually live with. Now he had to get buy-in from Bones.

“You could use Colon in physiology class to play music during sims. Think of it, _GI Tracks: Greatest Hits That Will Bowel You Over!_ For ancient music lovers, he can play _The Magic Toot_ or _The Burper of Seville._ What if I end up with someone like that again? _”_

“Maybe James “Turbulence” Kirk needs to look in the mirror before blowin’ off steam about his roommate. You make most of the noise when you’re here, Jim. I’m speakin’ from experience ‘cause you’re here so much that I’m practically your second roommate.” Realizing the implication, Leta spun around in her chair to face Jim, “And that is NOT,” punctuating the negative with her long index finger pointed towards said Turbulence, “an invitation!” 

Jim raised his hands in an _“I give up”_ gesture and didn’t pursue the subject any further – out loud. On the surface, Jim turned his attention back to studying advanced warp theory and _Strategic Variants of Warrior Versus Guardian Cultures_. Inside, he exulted. Bones had made a classic tactical error in any argument: a Freudian slip revealed she had pictured them as roommates. Jim didn’t need to get her buy-in; he already had it. 

Jim’s acquiescence should have been Leta’s first clue that something was already beyond her control. After finals, Command Track Cadet Kirk brought _The Art of War_ philosophy to bear on this state of affairs and the fight was over before it started.

________

“Hey, Bones! You decent? Lights twenty percent.” An obscenely cheerful male voice woke Leta from a finals-induced coma two Saturday mornings later. “Hellooo!,” he sing-songed as the lights came up.

A groaning McCoy emerged slowly from behind the sleeping area partition, rubbing her eyes and unsteady on her feet. “Decent, but not nice!”

When Leta looked up, her squint at the lights quickly morphed into a scowl at the familiar fucktard who had no right to look that good this early in the morning with his shiny teeth and golden hair. “That twinkle in your eyes must be the mornin’ sun shinin’ between your ears ‘cause you don’t seem to have enough brain cells to understand somethin’ as basic as the concept of time. It’s 0700 on the first day after exams. Take your chrono-challenged ass and get outta here!”

“Wow! That’s quite a speech for someone who hasn’t had coffee yet. And I can fix that ‘cause I’m a geek bearing gifts.” As he spoke, Jim-the-fucktard brought an arm from around his back holding a take-out tray. Three cups from a nearby purveyor of fine roasts favored by caffeine connoisseur McCoy were nestled in the niches. “One for me and two for you.” 

“That,” huffed McCoy, pointing to the tray, “is the only reason I’m not callin’ security on you.”

With a knowing smile, the bouncy bastard put the tray on the table in the living area and flopped on one end of the couch. As if pulled by a magnet, Leta shuffled over and sank into the cushion on the opposite end. She lifted one of the cups with a caress, popped the top with reverence, and took a sensual sip with her eyes closed. “The elixir of life,” she intoned, drawing out the last word (“ _laahf”)_. She laid her head on the back of the couch in bliss.

“I should have tried waking you up with coffee delivery before,” Jim said. Then, lowering his voice to a silky-smooth bass, “Looks like an aphrodisiac. You’re welcome.” 

Leta brought her head up. She turned unsteadily towards Jim, her head wobbling like a planet knocked off its axis. Her eyes narrowed again while focusing on him as her brain struggled to reboot. 

This morning, there was something less than the patented Jim Kirk self-assurance in his manner. His shoulders weren’t quite relaxed against the couch; they were holding onto a tinge of tension. The _“I should have…”_ was said with a little…regret? Then he covered it.

Leta wanted to get the response right. Jim deserved no less. He could be a pain in the ass on the surface, but it was a façade for a deep-seated sense of fairness and generosity. She didn’t know a lot about Jim’s early life, other than the infamous circumstances of his birth. He didn’t talk about it, which by itself spoke volumes. His reticence to talk about his family, his undocumented scars, and his ability to charm or fight with equal skill, told the doctor that great personal pain had produced the PIA currently parked on her couch. The memory of that pain was a catalyst for him to protect himself at the drop of a hat, even from someone he was close to. 

Unfortunately, Leta wasn’t good at drawing people out. Growing up, the adults in her parents’ exclusive circle were concerned with making sure their children always measured up to some amorphous standard of _“it is never acceptable to be less intelligent than your peers_. _”_ Not participating in conversation or failing to answer a question was unacceptable, but saying something deemed unsophisticated was cause for even greater criticism. Since the bar was always being reset higher, it was safer to stay cautious in conversations unless an ally, like a sibling, was nearby. 

Leta dealt with the communication minefield by deflection, disarming frankness, and, if necessary, searing sarcasm. Donna, her identical twin, had dealt dialogue by being the most literate person in the room. She could quote rings around everyone and there was a quote for everything. When they were at their twin-pathic best, Leta would set up the conversation and Donna would spike the rhetorical ball. 

After Donna died and the breakup with Jocelyn killed Leta’s trust in life, the universe, and everything, a good offense was the default setting. Biting commentary from which she wouldn’t back down, including with some patients, contributed to an implosion during residency. A hospital disciplinary action forced her out of that black hole enough to be functional, but the verbal equivalent of raised hackles remained. The hair-trigger quality of Leta’s verbal ordnance had defused after the hostage incident, in part because of the mandatory ongoing therapy and in part because of Jim’s steady friendship. So, this morning, she was able to hear Jim’s tenuous vulnerability since she wasn’t so busy tilting at windmills. 

Her conversational skills were still the equivalent of killing a fly with a cannon. She opted for as nuanced a comeback as her insufficiently caffeinated brain could think of. It was too effing early for subtlety.

“Oooh, you sure know how to make a girl feel special,” she waved her take-out coffee cup in his face along with a dry-as-a-Bones tone. “I’m not grateful for bein’ woken up before I had to be. What do ya want, Jim?” 

From Jim’s sigh, Leta knew the volley had been played well enough not to wound, a miraculous feat considering she hadn’t even finished the first cup yet. 

“Can’t I just pay a visit to Study Buddy Bones?” Jim winked. 

Leta’s lips twitched as she pulled back a wannabe-smile. She almost couldn’t help herself when it came to Jim Kirk. Dammit. “OK, dial back the charm offensive – or rather, the offensive charm.” 

“Say it ain’t so, Bones!” Jim held his hand to his chest in mock shock.

Leta put down her cup and held up a hand between them. “Extra coffee, a new nickname,…”

“An _improved_ nickname.” Jim interrupted, which earned him a huff.

“…and a wink. Now I know I’m in trouble.”

“Soooo,” Jim picked up a cup, opened the top, and examined its contents like he had never seen coffee before, “I bet Doctor McCoy was too busy last month to see the announcement that some of the dorms are being refurbished over the summer and cadets in singles are going to be doubled up, no exceptions.” 

Bones started in surprise. _"_ _What?!”_ Leta was glad she wasn’t holding her coffee, or it would have ended up on the floor. 

Before she could get cranked up again, Jim rushed to explain, “It’s gonna happen whether you like it or not, _BUT_ , if we volunteer to room together for two months, before noon today, we get first pick of the refurbished doubles.” Jim looked at her, his eyes wide in anticipation, “We should room together. As you said a couple of weeks ago, we practically do already. And neither of us snore.”

Jim’s face slipped into a neutral mask as he took a sip of his coffee, waiting for Bones’ reaction to his proposal. 

Leta knew she had a tendency to lose track of administrative matters that didn’t directly affect medical or academics. She was sure that Jim was aware of her lack of response to the housing announcement; he probably commed the housing office to confirm. She was also sure he had waited to spring this solution to a mutual problem on her, with such timing that she couldn’t come up with an alternative. Worst of all for her ego, he was right about this. 

As Jim waited, Leta turned her attention back to her cup, picking it up and taking a sip to center herself. She was teetering on the fulcrum of exasperation and affection that seemed to be part and parcel of a friendship with James T. Kirk. Jim was showing his flank. His message wasn’t just, “ _I want this,”_ although he was being honest about that and it was the cover story.Jim was also saying, “ _Let me do this for us.”_

It felt…good. It choked her up and she had to stop sipping her coffee.Leta couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, even if she was irritated with herself for not seeing this one coming. She groaned as she put her coffee cup down again, trying to expel some self-directed frustration. A McCoy had to put up at least a little bit of a fight. Her pride was at stake, after all.

“I’m not against it on principal, but there are things we should think about first.”

“You don’t want to be known as a fallen woman, Bones?”

“Oh, _please_! That southern belle crap went by the wayside a long time ago. Moralistic roadkill.” Jim barked a laugh and Bones smirked. “No, that’s not what I was referrin’ to.” 

Leta turned to face Jim directly. “If they’re gonna force me to room with someone, usually I’d say better the devil I know…” Jim waggled his eyebrows. “…than the devil I don’t. The thing is, I didn’t grow up with brothers and I’ve lived alone for a long time. As far as I know, you didn’t have sisters,” Jim shook his head, “and you lived alone for a while, too, before Starfleet. There are bound to be issues between us as roommates.”

“We can work things out, Bones.”

“Remember that ass chewin’ I got from Uncle Darren after the JPT incident?” 

“Now _you’re_ being offensive, if you think I could actually forget that.” 

“Touché.” She nodded. “Well, it was a kick in the teeth at the time, but he was right about me gettin’ on my high horse with the people I’m supposed to be close to. And you get all evasive, or downright disappear sometimes, when feelin’s get involved.”

Anticipating a rejection, Jim looked down at his coffee again. Leta bent down to catch his eye before she spoke.

“Jim, I’m willin’ to try it for the summer, on two conditions.” 

Jim looked up with a smile like the morning sun Leta claimed he brought with him when he woke her up. “Bring ‘em on, Bones!”

“One: I still don’t want any dates in the dorm. And two: if we cain’t get along like grown-ups, we need to room separately in the fall.” Before Jim could interrupt with assurances, Leta added, “I don’t want us getting’ our panties in a bunch over whose turn it is to buy milk or piddlin’ stuff like that.”

“Oooh! I haven’t done panties before, but I’m willing to try them.” He looked as eager as a puppy.

Leta covered her face as she groaned and fell into the couch. Jim could hear a muffled, “Never, ever say anythin’ to Jim Kirk before the caffeine kicks in.”

Jim squeezed, then pulled, Leta’s arm and coaxed her upright with a blinding smile. “I accept your conditions, Bones, and your panties. It’ll be fun!” 

Kirkian enthusiasm was infectious. Leta’s red face was at war with itself. A smile of her own threatened to break through her chagrin, like sunshine through storm clouds, as Jim sailed off to make the arrangements.

____________

Two months later, Jim spun around on his comfy new desk chair, kinetically celebrating a successful conclusion of their deal with the housing office for a swanky new dorm. 

“Are you six?” The southern accented questioner sitting in her own comfy new desk chair made the number almost sprout an extra syllable, just shy of “ _see-ix.”_

Jim shot back on the second spin, “Are you _sixty_? You sure don’t look sixty. Bones, these chairs should be called Kiss-My-Ass chairs, ‘cause it feels like I’m giving someone the privilege. They are _that_ comfortable.” His voice lowered suggestively as the chair swung to face her, “You could help me prove it.” He was not disappointed with the expected eye roll and blush. He loved making her blush.

A device chirped while his one-person carousel continued to turn. As Jim swerved around a third time, Bones was staring at her comm like it had insulted her and looked decidedly _un_ comfortable in her KMA chair.

The partition between the desks in the study nook was only about shoulder high and the carrels faced each other. The only way Bones could have a private comm call would be for one of them to retreat to a bedroom or for her to talk via text. Apparently, Bones didn’t have a problem with Jim hearing her replies to the party on the other end since she didn’t suspend the comm to do either of those things.

Nevertheless, Jim stopped spinning to face away from Bones, giving her the illusion of privacy. 

Jim occupied his mind by basking in self-satisfaction at successfully securing one of the newly refurbished dorms after voluntarily rooming with Bones for the past eight weeks. It might not have been HALO jumping fun, but rooming together full time had been pleasant enough. It helped that Jim had something unpleasant to compare it to. The most head-butting with Bones had been about use of the shower before they learned to work around each other’s schedules. With a blush and shove, Bones hadn’t taken Jim up on showering together [insert the famous Kirk eyebrow waggle here]. 

The new apartment had two separate bedrooms with individual sonic laundries, a larger kitchen for Bones’ cooking (not frequent, but fantastic), a reliably working replicator with updated programming for too-tired-to-cook-and-too-broke-for-takeout nights, a sitting room, the study alcove in which they were currently seated at mirror image desks, a bathroom with separate sinks and cabinets, and a color scheme that was aesthetically pleasing to human standards, if not creative. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the study alcove were fully opaque for the first meter and adjustable transparency, both horizontal and vertical, above that. Considering some places Jim had lived before Starfleet, this apartment was positively luxurious. He realized it was the closest thing to a home he’s had in years.

He certainly didn’t have a home living in so-called downtown Riverside for five years before the Academy, in that dump of a studio apartment he paid ridiculous rent for. Jim took it because his big reputation in a small town made it his only option. 

He didn’t even have a home years before that. His mother’s house hadn’t felt like a home since grade school. Jim almost choked up as some good memories of his pre-school years floated to the surface, especially times playing with his older brother, Sam, while his mom had a temporary position at the shipyard. Jim didn’t remember much detail about his mother from that time. Sure, there was some home cooking and some bedtime story reading, but there wasn’t much of _her._ With hindsight that was becoming less clouded with anger every time he thought about her, Jim finally acknowledged his mother’s depression. He couldn’t continue to blame Winona for not seeking help during that time because she probably hadn’t been capable of it. Now, he was more angry at Starfleet for not forcing her to get help. 

What he _could_ blame Winona for was her poor judgment at leaving the boys with her brother, Frank, whenever she was off planet, which was most of the next seven years. Jim wouldn’t dignify the memory of that bag of dicks with the title of “Uncle.” Frank taught Jim that another word for abuse is apathy. Jim learned how to feel like he was homeless while living in the only home he had ever known.

In Frank’s case, the jerk just didn’t care. Jim guessed that he made the commitment to _“watch”_ the kids for credits that Winona automatically transferred into Frank’s account. Whatever Frank _“watched,”_ it wasn’t the boys. He did nothing resembling parenting. Sam tried his best as the older brother, but he was a kid himself and got all twisted up inside. Frank drove Sam to run away at seventeen, vowing to come back with enough money and a lawyer to kick Frank out. It was a teen-aged fairy tale. They never heard from Sam again.

The lid came off Jim’s relationship with Frank after Sam left. It boiled over into a tit for tat that became life and death. For driving away the most important person in Jim’s life, Jim drove a car that Frank coveted off of a cliff, almost killing himself in the process. Instead of addressing the chasm between them like a responsible adult, Frank sent Jim to Tarsus IV so they would _“teach the kid not to bite the hand that feeds him.”_

Then the hand bit Jim.

Returning to Iowa after that shitshow was not a homecoming. Despite Winona kicking Frank out and taking a permanent ground assignment at the shipyard, it was too late to be a happy little farmhouse family. No amount of homemade shepherd’s pie with a side of PTSD meds was going to cure Jim’s rage. He tested out of most classes and did the remainder on the net. He acted out his anger whenever possible, intensely enough to show his distain for authority, but avoiding infractions that would tempt anyone to send him away again. When he wasn’t pushing the limits, he read voraciously. The only things he wanted from Winona, other than basic needs, were books. They were his companions as he bided his time in the house of the person who was his mother until he could petition for emancipation. 

On the day he turned seventeen, the anniversary of his father’s death, Jim served his mother with the court order and announced he was leaving. He slapped the PADD down on the kitchen table and expected Winona to plead with him to stay. 

She didn’t, almost as if she knew what he had been planning. “You more than deserve your freedom, Jim. I know you don’t want anything to do with me, but in case you ever change your mind, no one else has this comm code, so I’ll know who’s calling.” She pulled a comm unit out of the cabinet above the food stasis unit and placed it on the table beside the legal PADD. The look on Winona’s face as he picked up his pre-packed duffle threw a little water on the fire in Jim’s belly, enough so that he reached for the comm and threw it in his bag before walking out the door. 

That was the last time he saw that house or his mother. He got his act together enough to stay employed, though he maintained a reputation as rabble rouser, as much out of boredom as resentment. Jim rented what he could afford with his wages and reputation, that dump of a studio. 

The new apartment was much better, by many orders of magnitude. He and Bones had dibs to stay in this unit until they graduated.

Graduation. Was he going to invite his mother when the time came? Jim hadn’t even contacted Winona about his enlistment, though he was sure she heard through the ‘Fleet rumor mill or Pike himself. About three months ago, he started thinking about comming her. The incredibly awkward conversation sure to follow stayed his hand. In his experience, those who couldn’t find their feet were taken advantage of and that conversation was sure to be emotional quicksand. He wanted reconnection to be on solid ground, on his terms. 

On second thought, maybe it already was. After all, Jim made it clear when he left Winona’s house that he didn’t want her to contact him and, as far as Jim knew, she hadn’t tried. 

At any rate, he was not going to spoil his good mood about this new apartment by thinking about his mother all day. Jim spun back around to pick up a PADD on his desk. Bones ignored him as she listened to her comm.

He had to give Bones a little credit. She had ceded the decision of picking the specific unit to Jim in consideration of the fact that he had orchestrated the apartment upgrade. Even when she found out Jim chose a top floor unit, which they both knew was her least favorite option, Bones didn’t go back on her word.

Of course, after the pejorative _“your elevator don’t go all the way to top, Jim,”_ he heard predictions about broken building elevators the rest of the day. 

_“It’ll be that many more bruises for me to regen when the lift goes down in the middle of the night and you stumble your drunk behind…” [pronounced bee-haahnd] “…up twelve stories.”_

_“Bones, I want to see as many stars as possible through our windows at night. Imagine flying a shuttle above the skyline.” Jim made wavy motions through the air with his hand._

_“Well, if you fly like that, I’m not comin’ with you.”_

Jim doubted Bones would ride in a shuttle with anyone right now, no matter how well they flew. In the few days since they moved in, Jim noticed that Bones darkened the windows whenever he was away. She didn’t complain when he lightened the windows, which was very un-Bonesean in and of itself, but deftly avoided facing the view head-on. 

Bones was seeing a psychologist about the terrorist incident. They would have to work through her shuttle crash too, because flying without an anxiety attack was a graduation requirement, Starfleet operating in space and all. Jim knew – the whole Federation knew – Bones had nerves of steel when other people’s lives were on the line. Jim couldn’t imagine the doctor in Doctor McCoy allowing herself to fail basic shuttle flight ops since her class would focus on medical transports. If she needed extra coaching, Jim was determined to help Bones with her flying issue so she didn’t flunk out. 

Jim became acutely aware of the ongoing comm conversation as Bones raised her voice. The call was on direct feed to Leta’s earpiece, so Jim could only hear her half of the exchange. Nevertheless, it was easy to figure out who was on the other end of the comm and what they were talking about.

“I left you a message real early ‘cause it’ll be hard to get a hotel room if you wait, but if you don’t want to...” Pause. “Yes, Ma, I _want_ you to be there.” Pause. “I’ll send you details by text.” Pause. “Bye, Ma.”

The call didn’t end with a reflexive _“I love you.”_ Bones turned off her earpiece and sighed. 

Jim broke through the sudden silence by asking the obvious. “Family weekend?” 

“Yeah,” Bones confirmed. With a groan, she sat back, closed her eyes, and crossed her arms as if protecting herself from a memory, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Jim watched her in sympathy for a few moments. For years, Bones had blamed her mother for her sister’s death. There was some other kind of conflict about a failed romance, but Bones never talked about it. Leta’s relationship with Eleanora was just about as fucked up as Jim’s was with Winona. 

Crap. So much for not thinking about his mother all day. 

He had vaguely thought about contacting Winona last semester, to see if there was some relationship worth salvaging, but he told himself at the time he wasn’t ready. Then, during the move, he found the comm his mom had given him. Looking at the physical evidence forced him to admit to himself that he wanted to meet her halfway before he graduated. 

Well, he was no steely-eyed missile man when it came to Mom issues. He was still dragging his feet while Bones had taken the first step towards reconnecting with her own mother. Jim took a little consolation at the fact that Bones had an uncle – a _real_ uncle – who gave a shit and gave her a shove in the right direction.

“Bones, it’s what you’ve gotten yourself _back_ into. You wouldn’t have asked your mom to come unless there was a little bit of something good left between you, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just…I don’t know where to start with her. Other than stand around and try not to say the wrong things, what are we gonna do together?” 

Bones was handing Jim the perfect excuse to contact his mother, with a built-in escape plan. He could invite Winona to Family Weekend and, assuming she accepted, Eleanora would be there to talk to when things got weird between mother and son. 

Thinking strategically about family wasn’t a bad thing if it was good for everyone. 

Awkward moments were still inevitable. Having a plan to minimize them didn’t make Jim’s dread of them any less. He could feel a stew of impotence, anxiety, and, yes, longing roiling in his stomach. At least it tamped down that feeling of incompetence. Since that was the best he could do, it was time to strap ‘em on. 

Before speaking, Jim had a moment of panic about the McCoy family connection to Tarsus IV, but only a moment. He couldn’t believe his mother was so small-minded as to hold something against Eleanora because her husband had been gullible. Both mothers were widows because of madmen. He also knew Winona wouldn’t say anything about Tarsus since it would bring attention to her own parenting, or lack thereof.

“Wellll,” he began tentatively, “if I invited my mom, they’d each have someone to talk to besides us. Maybe they could do something together.”

Bones’ eyes snapped open. “ _Your_ mom?” She sounded shocked.

“Yeah.”

Leta’s face was a mixture of astonishment, anticipation, and relief. Her eyebrows tried for a record high jump. Jim decided it was worth feeling his own trepidation, if he could bring out that look of unguarded gratitude on Bones' face.

Suddenly, those brunette brows came back down, her eyes darkening with concern. Leta rolled her KMA chair around the side of the study carrels to face Jim with no barrier between them. “You don’t have to take one for the team.” 

“I’m not, Bones.”

Naturally, Bones figured out that this was a big fat deal for Jim. Maybe the fact that he never, ever talked about his mother was an itty, bitty clue. She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, searching for assurance that he wasn’t being a martyr. His return gaze didn’t waver. Whatever she saw in his eyes must have been reassuring because her face suddenly morphed into a smirk.

“They’ll probably get on like a house on fire and team up on us. We could be sorry for letting them meet.”

It was Jim’s turn to wonder what he had gotten himself into. Oh, boy…

Bones’ voice broke through his misgivings. “Well, even though I feel like I’ve already done enough work for one day, I’ve got to leave for my med shift.”

Leta went to her room to quick-change into a uniform, then spent a few minutes in the kitchen at the replicator. Jim pulled the Mom Comm out of his desk drawer and rolled it around in his hands. It was too late to back out now, but it would be easier comming Winona after Bones left. Soon the doctor picked up her med kit at her desk and gave Jim a _“see you later”_ on the way out.

Hmm. It was uncharacteristic of Bones not to offer him something to eat when she was making food. Jim found he missed it. 

He wouldn’t have been able to eat anyway, thinking about this comm hanging over his head, but he could use something to drink. Walking into the kitchen, Jim raised his hand to the replicator screen to order juice. _“Please remove order”_ already appeared on the display. A malfunction in a brand-new unit? Jim sighed. It figured this place was too good to be true. His head full of cynicism, Jim opened the replicator to check, just in case. 

Inside, he found a small gift box. 

The label proclaiming the gift as his told him Bones had not forgotten him after all. He pushed the weird, warm feeling aside, along with the lid, and found…panties.

Sky blue panties.

_Just you wait, Doctor McCoy, just you wait._


	2. Other Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Leta brings her past into the present, Jim realizes something about his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 picks up where Chapter 1 left off.
> 
> (Have fun with the Easter eggs.)

_C/JKirk: Bones – Karma is the universe’s reward for patience. I am a patient person when I have to be._

Jim’s ominous message was sent during her med shift. Leta saw it for the first time in the SFM locker room, as she checked messages before changing from scrubs back into a uniform. The message made her pulse speed up, the kind of low-level thrum of excitement she used to get waiting for an important fencing match to begin, plus some. It made her get all catawampus trying to take off her undershirt. Fortunately, no one saw the cat’s cradle with her uniform. She rushed out to the first of three special Friday night xeno-med seminars still straightening her sleeves.

On the way to class, Leta secretly savored her reaction to Jim’s text. She presumed it was the same kind of anticipation that enticed people to amusement parks, a down payment on a full-blown adrenalin rush during a ride. Her father had considered amusement parks low class, so she had never been to one. She had heard other kids talk about waiting to get on a roller coaster in a way that described how she now felt. 

Of course, Leta was never getting in one of those death traps now. Simply the thought of exposure to the open air during three minutes of repeated free falls gave her the pre-triggering chills. After the first thirty seconds on a roller coaster, she would need to be sedated and carted off in a medevac. At least the bigger death traps run by Starfleet had hulls all around. If she were sucked out into space from a hull breach, Leta wouldn’t be conscious after ten seconds to bother having a panic attack about her blood boiling in thirteen. 

McCoy shook off such lovely images by internally parroting Pike’s mantra that Starfleet was _“a humanitarian and peace keeping armada_ ,” giving purpose to five years on a tin can. Self-talk might not be enough to get through flight training, but it brought her thoughts back from the edge this evening.

Sliding into a seat in the lecture hall, Leta read Jim’s warning again, a corner of her mouth twitching as she tried to refrain from an all-out grin. She shouldn’t have listened to the devil on her shoulder about teasing him, yet the prospect of yanking his chain about the apartment move was too tempting. It was Jim’s fault, really. _“It’ll be fun!”_ he said _._ She simply took him at his word, right? 

Having fun without obligation was a rare indulgence for Leta McCoy. Correction: it was rare until she stumbled across James T. Kirk. From their first encounter in Riverside, she associated fun with Jim. She took on the obligation part all by herself, including patching him up after so many bar fights and sparring matches that she lost count. A few months ago, he returned the favor by helping her through her recovery, even with choosing the breast implant. That had been particularly fun. Jim couldn’t have been more of a rascal _(“A little firmness would give someone more to hang on to.”)_ – or more of a gentleman _(“You deserve to feel beautiful, Bones.”)_ – at the same time. She had invited the impishness and intimacy, something she would never have done with anyone else. His small attentions before and since were like rain in the dessert to a hibernating seed. 

Leta’s latent trust had awakened so far that today she made her own mischief, with no influence other than _fun with Jim_ inspiring her to do it. 

Since she had her fun at Jim’s expense there was a devil to pay, a genius devil with no shame. Leta knew Jim was going to retaliate, but she trusted him not to go too far. He was the _only_ person she trusted that way. Certainly, he would make her blush. Also certainly, he wouldn’t humiliate her. Never in her life had she imagined being willing to court embarrassment – be emotionally vulnerable – for someone, _just for fun_. Not Jocelyn, not even her sister. As for when to expect the unexpected, it wouldn’t be this soon. Jim would let her twist in the wind for a while. And she was weirdly OK with that.

She tried to get her face under control before the instructor walked in. Grinning like a loon during an emergency medicine class wouldn’t be looked on too kindly.

____________

Before Family Weekend, all Starfleet medical personnel not in the rehabilitative divisions were required to complete an intense short course in multi-species emergency medicine in anticipation of the cadets’ relatives expected to visit the area. The abbreviated XSEM course was obviously too short for anyone to become an expert in comparative medicine on that class alone. Its purpose was to teach practical considerations for treating minor injuries or stabilizing major medical issues until a patient could be transported to the main SFM facility. 

Tearing herself away from Jim’s text, Doctor MCoy focused on how much she looked forward to this class, ignoring that it turned three Fridays in a row into marathons. Her emergency room experiences in Georgia involved almost exclusively humans and the xeno-med Academy classes thus far had been dryly pedantic. ER and field medicine required creativity to work around all kinds of constraints. She hoped to learn how to apply that ingenuity to other species.

To start the course off, non-human ‘Fleet medics reviewed cultural norms of the species expected to attend Family Weekend. Alien taboos involving treatment were a big consideration. SFM’s main facility had a lot of staff of various species to draw from. They could afford to be vigilant about cultural issues. When it came to field medicine, an on-scene medic didn’t always have the luxury of getting same-species support or otherwise being able to accommodate sensitivities in order to save a life. There were bound to be _faux pas_. The point of the class was to learn the lines not to cross under certain circumstances for non-life-threatening culture clashes. As a last resort, medical personnel could call the Diplomatic Corps hotline programmed into comms, PADDs, and med scanners. 

Consumables were a huge problem area. Certain species favored particular Terran recreational drugs. The track record for Family Weekend was at least one non-human hospitalized for an overdose every year, occasionally followed by expulsion of a cadet, depending on the outcome of an investigation. Despite ‘Fleet food service being vigilant about posting warnings, there were always a few allergic reactions to Terran food which could also be hard to recognize in some species.

A few attendees stopped paying attention to the talk on fall injuries – lacerations, bruises, and fractures – obviously thinking they knew it all. Idiots. Species with copper-based blood got special attention, even though all medical personnel had some knowledge in this area. Vulcans were First Contact after all. 

There was a sobering discussion on recognizing symptoms indicating a communicable disease that bio-scans at points of entry failed to screen out. If a novel microbe appeared, the _best_ -case scenario was an outbreak, contact tracing, and level one lockdown. 

On a lighter note, the last lecture covered emergency births. There had been a surprising number of births during Academy Family Weekends over the years, making them family weekends in more ways than one. Apparently, guests took the event name seriously.

At the end of the XSEM course, med-kits were stocked with a greater variety of pharmaceuticals and med-scanners were upgraded for those who didn’t already have new models (not necessary in Doctor McCoy’s case since she requisitioned one halfway through the first semester for Jim). Everyone was given a translator unit programmed with the languages spoken by registered families. Medical cadets were given a uniform waiver to wear the translator throughout Family Weekend. 

Before dismissal, the instructor, Doctor Gupta, had a bitter pill for everyone to swallow. Attendees were informed that a new General Order for the medical branch was being put in place. “Due to the rising number of medical interventions needed during Family Weekend over the past few years, all cadet physicians, medical residents, security medics, and RNs will be on call for Family Weekend, including those who have guests.” 

Silence hung in the room for several moments before gasps and groans could be heard as the implication of the GO sank in. They would all be on duty all weekend, for all calls. McCoy understood being on duty herself for last year’s Family Weekend because she didn’t have guests at the time, but this year’s policy was ridiculous. The clinic had been busy during Family Weekend last year, not crazy, even accounting for her tolerance of crazy as an experienced trauma surgeon. 

Doctor McCoy was the first to speak, “Oh, you mean they changed the name of the event. It _was_ called _Family Weekend._ Now it’s called _work._ ” A whispered chorus of agreement followed.

Gupta didn’t look her in the eye as he continued, “If a physician, resident, or medic with guests is called in or provides emergency services, an Ombudsman will be assigned to the family. The GO has been written in family-friendly language and sent to your PADDs, so you can forward it on to your guests.” 

Leta wanted to throw her PADD across the room. This asinine GO wasn’t right, on principal. Once a physician, always a responder at need. Still and all, no down time led to burnout for staff, estrangement between partners, and abandonment issues for kids. Those were problems for ‘Fleet families even without admin finding more ways to incubate them. The psych people should be lobbying against this GO. The Starfleet Families Foundation, S-double-F, surely would be burning up the comm lines as soon as they heard about it, which would be about…now, as her neighboring classmate, who was also expecting family this weekend, punched _send_ on his comm.

Short of the GO being rescinded – and the chances of that happening this close to the event were between nil and zip – Family Weekend couldn’t feel more like impending doom to Leta personally. On a scale of Zero to Catastrophe, this was Disaster. Only six days from now, she was supposed to see her mother face-to-face for the first time in six years, all the while knowing she could be called away any minute for an undetermined length of time. 

No pressure to clean up the shambles of their relationship as quickly as possible before losing the chance, no pressure at all. 

And she couldn’t have a drink the entire weekend.

_Dammit!_

____________

On that same Friday night, Jim sat back in his KMA-comfortable desk chair, contemplating the paradox that was Leta McCoy. Though there were instances when she was straightforward with her feelings, they were rare. Bones bent over backwards to help someone move forward, grousing the whole time about the pitfalls ahead. She was generous to a fault, would do it again in a heartbeat, nonetheless bitching about how much trouble it was. So, with Bones you had to read the signs right to know what was going on. (A certain southern voice would say, _“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black.”_ ) He remembered standing in the kitchen with a gift box three weeks ago, figuring out what it meant, then planning his payback…

_At first, Jim assumed the panty prank, along with her no-dates-in-house rule, meant that Bones wanted sex with him and couldn’t bring herself to ask directly. He intended to oblige, despite being somewhat disappointed that she was just like all the others. The more he thought about it, though, the more wrong it felt._

_Jim didn’t have a lot of hang ups about sex, as long as it was consensual. He also trusted his instincts. For him to feel uncomfortable with a sexual innuendo meant that something else was going on, something he hadn’t articulated to himself yet. If it wasn’t a message about sex (or not_ only _about sex, because, ya know,_ him _), what was it? What was she trying to say?_

_From what Leta told him about communication in her family, it wasn’t straightforward. That explained all the metaphors. She was raised to be clever, but careful. Reveal, but not too much. A feint within a feint within a feint. She trusted Jim to get that, not to overreact or overinterpret._

 _The most reductive explanation was that she was playing. Just playing. Could it be_ that _simple? Something he heard in xenocultures class came to mind:_ “The more complex the mind, the greater the need for the simplicity of play.”

_Yeah, it could be that simple._

 _Jim noticed any time Bones got close to really laughing, she pulled it back. Sure, she smirked, she grinned, she chuckled, but she didn’t haha laugh out loud. The closest she came to a real McCoy guffaw was in her hospital bed during an emotional come down. That hardly counted in his mind. He was determined to get her to laugh, as in belly laugh, as in lose control laughing. There was real humor lurking inside Bones’ bones, trying to come to the surface. Jim’s inner jester made it a personal_ magnum opus _to draw it out._ Operation: Funny Bones _was born._

_He knew from the outset that strategy was necessary. Good jokes had a set-up and a surprise ending. Surprise was the very definition of a prank. Context would make it even better. Of course, he had to send a warning first, to build tension as she expected an ambush at any moment. And to get a little of his own back since he wasn’t going to return fire for a while…_

Tonight, three weeks later, he was evaluating his strategy’s effectiveness so far, like a good future captain.

Bones still hadn’t stopped looking out for an ambush since the karma text. Jim could tell she was wary every time she walked through the door by the way her eyes shifted and her feet hesitated. He was glad the text worked better than anticipated, but the joke would be on him if she didn’t soon let down her guard. Now that he’d had some fun rattling her cage, he needed her to forget the threat, since revenge was a dish best served cold. Fortunately, Family Weekend was only a few days away. He was almost certain Bones would get distracted by her mother.

That was a silver lining to the black cloud hovering over him at the prospect of seeing his own mother again.

As Jim was about to become lost in stormy thoughts, Leta McCoy, M.D., showed she was already there by rolling through the front door like a cyclone. He noticed she didn’t hesitate at all. She thundered to her study carrel and dropped the full med-kit on the desk with a loud _CLUNK_.

Jim sat up straight in surprise, “Woah! Looks like someone could use a drink!” Relieved though he was that his wish had been granted and _Operation: Funny Bones_ was in the next phase, Angry Bones was not one to be ignored.

Leta turned towards Jim and shifted her shoulders back into a fighting stance. “Damn straight! Feel free to come with me. It’s Friday and I’m buyin’.”

“Far be it for me to argue with free booze. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m makin’ up for future lost time.” Bones stomped into her bedroom, not bothering to close the door. Jim could hear her going through her dresser and dropping clothes onto her bed.

“Sounds like time travel. Is this a project for a theoretical physics class I didn’t know you were taking? Or have you been talking to that whiz kid, Chekov?”

Bones appeared at her bedroom door in her black undershirt, throwing the red uniform tunic across the room behind her so hard it hit the wall. 

“I’m a doctor, not H.G. Wells. And I’m a _pissed_ doctor!” 

“No shit, Sherlock Bones. What about?”

Leta marched to her desk, “I’m also not a forensic pathologist.” She grabbed her XSEM class PADD and tossed it at Jim. He caught it mid-air. “Read the new GO.”

Marching back to her room, she continued talking over her shoulder, “If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t need autopsy certification for active duty. As it is, I don’t start the _post mortem_ rotation until next semester.”

“ _Then_ I can call you Sherlock Bones.”

“Infant!” Leta’s insult fell far short of its mark, being muffled as she changed into civvies. After giving Jim a minute to absorb the PADD document, she yelled through the doorway, “The first time I’ll see my mother in six years and I have to do it stone cold sober ‘cause I’ll be on call!” 

“That’s fucked up. You have family coming to visit on – oh, yeah – _Family_ Weekend. Putting you on call is kinda missing the point.”

“Aren’t you precious? There ya go makin’ sense,” she said in sing-song mock Southern sympathy. Leta reappeared at the door of her room in a t-shirt with a red dragon across the front. It suited her fire-breathing mood.

She continued her southern-fried rant, “Since jackassery is a family trait, medical’s expectin’ synergistic jackassery on Family Weekend. They’re expecting the same kinda exponential idiocy I see at the clinic when you command types mix it up with security and engineerin’.”

Jim knew better than to interrupt. He also knew better than to look amused at how thick her accent had gotten. To prevent himself from becoming the object of Bones’ first _post mortem_ , Jim turned towards his desk to shut down the PADDs he was working on when the tempest walked through the door, safely smiling while facing the opposite direction. 

Bones continued to spew while she carried her socks and boots to the couch. “Medical people with family shouldn’t have to get the short end of the stick. The long end of the stick is up Gupta’s ass! I’d like to shove it all the way up with my boot.” To emphasize her point, she stomped on the floor getting her heel into the bottom of her shoe.

Leta gathered her comm and mini med kit. “I’m gonna have drinks tonight that I won’t be able to have next week.” 

Jim called out as he went to his room to change clothes. “I can’t let you time travel alone, Bones, especially since you’re buying! Remember, the Doctor always has a companion,” referring to some old holovid show that was having a revival for the umpteenth time.

“Well, stop lollygaggin’!”

____________

Leta didn’t get as shitfaced as she originally intended. She had blown off a lot of steam on the way to the club and became watchful of Jim when he started putting the shots away. Caretaking was second nature, especially when it concerned James “Intemperance” Kirk.

The outing was overall a good time because Jim didn’t get in a fight, not even chest bumping. He bumped in a way she liked to watch, bumping and grinding on the dance floor. He caught her staring and claimed turnabout was fair play. Leta let him persuade her – out of fairness, mind you – to take a turn on the dance floor with him for several songs. _(“Roll those bones, Bones!”)_ Her efforts were rewarded with a smile that would be the stuff of fantasies back in her bedroom.

Then Jim disappeared for a while with someone else. 

Sitting back at the bar, Leta got the impression that most people assumed she and Jim had an open relationship. She couldn’t blame others for considering it a possibility. That didn’t justify rudeness. Not for the first time, Leta was propositioned for a foursome with her _“pretty boy.”_ Not only was she not into multiple partners – hell, she couldn’t figure out how to navigate _one_ – she was immediately turned off by the fact that the speaker didn’t even bother to fake interest in her. All he wanted was Jim and more orifices. She was supposed to be grateful for having her orifices invited to the party. No thanks. She gave her oral cavity something better to do than a jerk by having another bourbon.

Besides, if she ever got lucky enough to have Jim, she wouldn’t want to share. 

Who was she kidding? She wanted more than he was ready to give, to anyone. Leta had been there, done that with shallow romances. One was enough. Looking back on her time with Jocelyn, Leta realized she was captivated by Joce’s lifestyle, so unlike her own. Show business was exciting and Joanna was endearing. All she could see were bright shiny objects. No wonder they fell apart. 

Inborn exuberance, something Jim had in spades, was the same quality that attracted Leta to Jocelyn in the first place, although it felt almost dirty thinking of Jim and Joce having something in common. Time and distance helped Leta realize the heartbreak wasn’t all Joce’s fault. At a time when a void had opened in her life, Leta was attracted to that energy, like a moth to a flame. All she wanted was the flame and jumped right into it so she wouldn’t have to see the void. Leta couldn’t acknowledge there was no foundation to her relationship with Joce without recognizing her own emptiness. That’s why Joce’s refusal hurt so much: it was as much shame at her own willful ignorance as anger at being publicly humiliated. Eleanora openly acknowledging the source of Leta’s shame is what ended the mother-daughter relationship for six years. 

Despite, or maybe because of, the complete failure of the relationship with Joce, Leta couldn’t give up on wanting a real one someday. She was wired the _“coitus is not casual”_ way. Her holy grail was shared intimacy, reciprocated desire, entwined dreams, and faith in one another. Since those were not on offer from Jim, she would settle for deep friendship, great fun, and mutual trust. Some people didn’t experience any of those in their lifetimes.

In fairness to Jim, there was a difference between his casual interludes and propositions from the Mr. Foursomes of the world. The gossips who stage whispered around Leta couldn’t deny that Jim was a considerate sex partner, making sure the object of his temporary affections had a good and safe time. He made sure they knew up front it was temporary, likely never to be repeated. Jim’s casual-yet-respectful persona was compelling. It resonated with that sense of caring for others underlying Leta’s dedication as a physician. It was like being on the same frequency. That’s what kept her in a holding pattern around him.

Or maybe she could blame it on something in the empathic continuum. 

_(Hold on. It was time to cut herself off, if she was starting to think about having psychic powers.)_

Jim’s free spirit was another of his insanely attractive qualities. It was ironic that Jim had to commit himself to a rigidly hierarchical organization like Starfleet to accomplish his personal goals. ‘Fleet was downright constipated with rules and layers of authority. Leta wondered how long Jim would be able to tolerate it, or how long Starfleet would be able to tolerate him. She hoped it was long enough for Jim to outperform his father’s legacy and have his career viewed on its own merits. Leta would do everything she could to help Jim, if he would let her, because she understood that sense of purpose right down to her, well, bones. She had the same ambition with respect to her own father.

Taking the good with the bad, at least Leta learned to look beneath the shine the next time she met another person with the same radiance as Joce. This time, she found real substance and a good friend. No more, but no less.

Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, Jim reappeared at the bar and slapped her good shoulder. “Hey, fellow time traveler! Let’s have one for the road.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

_(What was it with the psychic references this evening?)_

“I’d love to, Jim, but if I have any more, the road’s the only thing I’ll see ‘cause I’ll be face down on it. As it is, I’ll need a hypover before bed,” referring to her own concoction of nutrients and detoxifiers to shorten hangover hell. “Wanna get somethin’ ta eat?”

“Tell you what: split some fries with me so we don’t waste any...," he looked at her pleadingly, "...and I’ll let you give me some snake oil when we get back.” He bared his neck. He looked like an affectionate puppy.

Leta was relieved Jim was willing to take a hypover; at the same time, his erratic eating habits continued to disturb her. Left to his own devices, he would go back to see-sawing between carb binging and not eating for days at a stretch. At the moment, it was a problem too big and a face too adorable for her bourbon-addled brain.

“That’s an offer I and my hypo cain’t refuse.”

The beefy bartender, waiting for them to order, looked suspicious about the 19th century reference. “We don’t sell illegal shit here.”

“Chill, man, it’s just another name for vitamins,” Jim flashed a grin and ordered the fries.

Jim’s motions salting the fries were mesmerizing and Leta’s thoughts floated back to her mother.

Salt in an emotional wound was how she recalled Eleanora’s comment about the breakup with Jocelyn. Leta could now admit to herself that her mother had been right. It stung, just the same. This Friday night binge was the last opportunity to vent her spleen and compromise her liver over it, to feel sorry for herself _carte blanche_. In a few days, she had to straighten her spine and steel her nerves to face her mother, without a buffer. 

_Shakespeare was right: “The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.”_

On Monday, Leta found out Shakespeare wrote in _iambic letsfuckwither_.

______________

PTSD therapy took place every Monday morning since the terrorist incident. From the outset, Doctor Elizabeth Dehner, the psychiatrist, knew this patient would be a challenge. She and McCoy were colleagues after all, with evenly matched bullshit detectors. During their first session in the hospital, Dehner got right to the point...

_“Leta, were you trying to kill yourself?”_

_“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, Liz.”_

_“If we’re doing metaphors, let’s try a Shakespearean one. I understand he was your sister’s favorite. Did you want to join your sister in the undiscovered country?”_

_McCoy didn’t know which was more irritating, being patronized or the reference to Donna. “The answer is ‘no.’ My sister would want me to live for her, not die for her, and I knew her better than anybody. Besides, I had plenty of opportunities to kill myself before this.”_

_“But none so spectacularly.”_

_For about a microsecond, McCoy toyed with the idea of responding with snark. She stopped herself because she needed a good evaluation from Dehner to practice medicine again. “I’m sure you read the report from the agent in charge and you know how I tried to make this operation_ more _survivable, not less.”_

_“Did you want the terrorists to die? There’s a fine line between justice and vengeance.”_

_McCoy held her tongue or she was going to point out that this was more of an inquisition than counseling._

_Dehner filled in the silence, “You know I’m required to render an opinion on whether you’re a danger to yourself or others.”_

_“Of course. And I also know these couple of questions won’t be the end of it.”_

_“It will be for the near term, but, you’re right, it won’t be for the long haul. I have to ask baseline interrogatories and provide a preliminary report today. Assuming that report says you are not a danger – and you still haven’t answered my question about the terrorists – I have to provide twelve monthly updates about the same issues.” When McCoy’s eyebrows took flight at the time frame, Dehner said, “Don’t look so surprised. We need to work on your aviophobia for you to graduate and don’t try to tell me that it’s not related to your sister, which is related to why you’re in that hospital bed.” The eyebrows crash landed. “Now, I would rather get these preliminary questions out of the way so we can move on.”_

_“Move on to what?”_

_Doctor Dehner folded her hands on her knees, quietly standing her ground at the attempted deflection._

_“_ Fine _,” Leta huffed, “I didn’t_ want _the terrorists to die. In fact, it bothered me that their families would be grieved if they got themselves killed. But that’s just it: they put themselves in that situation. The hostages, especially the kids, didn’t ask to be terrorized. I’m not goin’ to apologize for not feelin’ worse about what happened.”_

_“OK.” Dehner paused. “We’re going to have sessions as early as your schedule allows on Mondays, to start the week off right.”_

_“Cut the horseshit.”_

_It was Dehner’s turn for her eyebrows to take flight. “Well, that didn’t take long.” After a moment, she chuckled. “From my perspective, it_ does _start the week off right. Monday appointments also happen to prevent you from using Academy work during the week as an excuse to avoid seeing me_ and _let me check up on your weekends.”_

_“You talk as if avoidance was even possible with therapy being mandatory.” McCoy punctuated her annoyance at being outmaneuvered with an eyeroll._

_“You talk as if you wouldn’t try it anyway.” Dehner punctuated her annoyance at being underestimated with a smirk. “Hmm?”_

From that day forward, as far as McCoy was concerned, therapy didn’t “move on.” It staked a claim and exhumed her father. This was an old battlefield for Leta. Painful as it was to admit, time and experience had her giving ground to his ghost. 

Forgiveness was a bridge too far. 

The paternal phantom was eventually replaced by the wraith of resentment towards her mother. Doctor Dehner joined Uncle Darren’s chorus to begin exorcising that particular demon. Leta’s prick of an uncle sent a three-word comm at random intervals over the subsequent months, _“She’s still waiting.”_ McCoy told herself that extending a Family Weekend invitation to Eleanora was as much to stop the goading as to mend a broken family tie. 

Damn if therapy wasn’t working anyway, based on Leta’s thinking nice-ish thoughts about her mother at the bar Friday night. 

On the last Monday session before Family Weekend, Dehner decided they should confront another apparition. “Today, we’re going to start addressing the physical symptoms of your anxiety disorder.”

“Lovely,” Leta deadpanned. “You know as well as I do that a surgeon isn’t a candidate for medication and biofeedback hasn’t worked for me.”

“So, what were you going to do on a starship, tough it out?”

McCoy shrugged.

“How’s that working for you in the new high rise apartment with the transparent wall?” Dehner asked blandly.

Of course, the therapist had investigated a major life change. McCoy would have done the same thing. She threw daggers with her eyes anyhow and tried to save face. “Let’s make a deal.”

It was obvious to Dehner that McCoy was feeling backed into a corner and needed a little control to ground herself. A blow up today would set back the next phase of therapy. “No guarantees, but I promise to give your proposal honest consideration.”

“This new GO about Family Weekend,” McCoy handed Dehner a PADD. “Try to get it rescinded.”

Dehner pursed her lips as she read the PADD. Assigned as she was to the rehabilitative division of psychiatry, she had not been required to take the XSEM course and so hadn't heard about the new rule. “This is…”

“Ridiculous.”

“Agreed, but I can’t get it rescinded in three and half days. Probably for next year.” Dehner gave her patient a quizzical look. “Anyway, wouldn’t you want to work this weekend as an excuse not to spend time with your mother?”

“No tellin’ how long a call out could take. There could be precious little time for me and Ma to talk. And I want to talk to her, now I’ve crossed that Rubicon.”

“Woo hoo! We _are_ making progress! That admission only took six months.” Dehner ignored the infamous McCoy eye roll. “Maybe not having enough time to talk is a concern, but there’s more, isn’t there?” She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “That's it! You can’t self-medicate.” Taking no reaction as agreement, Dehner forged ahead, “Then I would say that this GO is good for you.” McCoy started to protest and Dehner talked over her. “I agree that it’s not fair overall and will try and get it revised for next year.”

Leta sat back in tense silence.

Dehner cleared her throat and addressed today’s topic, “I want you to try biofeedback again with updated technology. You can use it this week to reduce the stress level in your living space, which will help you going into the meeting with your mother. After Family Weekend, we’ll target your aviophobia.”

Leta muttered, _“Therein the patient must minister to himself.”_

“Since Macbeth’s attitude of _“throw physic to the dogs”_ would make you a hypocrite, I don’t believe you mean that.” She softened her tone. “You’ve made strides and I won’t let you lose momentum.”

From out of her desk drawer, Dehner took a clear case containing a wafer-thin disc about ten millimeters in diameter, an insertion tool, and a dermal regenerator. “This neural realignment device is implanted under the skin behind the left ear.”

Staring at the case, Leta looked uncomfortable. “I know what a NEURAD is. I just don’t want it.”

“Don’t tell me the woman who volunteered to have a bomb implanted in her breast, which could have _fried her brain,_ is afraid of a therapeutic device?”

McCoy folded her arms across her chest. “OK, so won’t tell you that I have a problem with implantin' somethin' meant to influence my brain without an overwhelmin' reason, like hostages.”

“Your crewmates, who will be your patients, will be victims of your anxiety if it interferes with your treatment of them in any way.”

“It _won’t._ ” McCoy almost shouted.

Doctor Dehner responded in The Voice of Reason, “You can’t be sure of that. We both know there are limited treatment options. I have concluded that you’re ready for an advanced NEURAD because you’ve made significant progress in talk therapy. The signal to noise ratio will be a lot higher than the last time you tried one, especially when you combine guided self-talk with the neural pattern manipulation.” She leaned towards Leta, elbows on her knees in a conspiratorial posture, “You’ve been a prisoner of your anxiety for far too long. It’s time for a jail break.”

Not having a choice as a cadet, and reluctantly agreeing with Dehner’s assessment as a physician, McCoy nodded her acceptance of the implant. 

When cool fingertips touched her scalp to begin the implantation procedure, Leta’s heart began to pound, a low-level thrum in her head. 

After placing the device, Dehner left it dormant. Operating instructions could wait until the end of the session. The quickened pulse visible at McCoy’s neck spoke volumes about the anxiety evoked by what the implant represented. One wafer-thin transducer had the potential to break down Leta's personal barrier to space travel. 

Going into the black just went from being a hypothetical to _becoming a reality._


	3. Reflections and Refractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Family Weekend.

Family Weekend kicked off with a Thursday night cocktail and dinner party in the banquet hall. Rather than lurking near a bar she couldn’t take advantage of, Leta decided to hold up a wall in the foyer while waiting for her mother. No need to add frustration to anxiety.

She was always led to believe a reunion was supposed to be a feat of anticipation over antipathy. Putting a good face on things should become irrelevant when looking forward to seeing familiar faces. _Should._

Focusing on appearances was why the David McCoy branch of the clan didn’t attend (wasn’t wanted at) most of the family get-togethers as she got older. Her father tended to turn so-called reunions into obligations, rather than celebrations.

For her, tonight was somewhere in between. 

A burst of laughter floated out through the banquet hall’s inner door, its echo in the foyer mocking Leta’s ambivalence. The vast majority of attendees were in a festive mood. Most cadets with visitors had been excused from classes in the afternoon for their initial family meet ups in private. Almost all melodramatic scenes were over and done with by cocktail hour.

Never a family to go by the book, the McCoys were an exception. Only two hours ago, Leta completed a key surgery sim for her research project on neural grafting. There hadn’t been time for a lengthy visit with her mother before dinner, what with the need to log results and change clothes. Meeting in a public place was better anyway since they would be on their best behavior. Eating would give them something to do with their mouths instead of putting their feet in them. A few minutes alone in a side room before dinner would suffice for a…reintroduction. Things were too tentative between them to expect more, despite the pressure Leta was feeling from being on call.

The Kirk family didn’t go by the book because they had a special edition all to themselves. Jim asked his mother to meet him here too. _“It’s for your moral support, Bones,”_ was a standard Jim Kirk deflection, but Leta knew it worked both ways. The two cadets were in this thing together, even if they didn’t confide completely in one another about their reasons.

Leta didn’t need a confession from Jim to confidently speculate on the depth of the divide between the Kirks. From hints Jim dropped about his working life back in Riverside, Leta was sure he had not seen his mother since he was old enough to leave home. It didn’t take Jim’s genius to figure out that his leaving home and never looking back while working as a yard dog _in the same town_ meant that things weren’t good between mother and son. That they lived in close proximity to one another and both worked in starship construction the whole time underscored his rejection of her. He had made a way of life out of throwing it in his mother’s face. Ouch.

As for why, Leta’s intuition said it had something to do with the scars. From the first time she treated Jim for bar-brawl injuries to his torso, Doctor McCoy noticed he had a lot of old, undocumented scars. By the state of the dermis, most of the associated injuries must have happened as a minor. His medical record was curiously silent about childhood injuries and Jim flatly refused to talk about the scars. At the same time, it would be unlike Jim to introduce his roommate to his mother if she was the abuser – he wouldn’t soil his nest like that – yet those scars, combined with his pre-‘Fleet living situation, told a story about his mother not being there to prevent abuse.

Leta could see Jim’s intensely conflicting emotions about his mother play out in real time. He had eaten less each day since their communion over fries last weekend. She was sure he had eaten nothing in the past 24 hours. He had spoken little to Leta over the past few days, probably to avoid any questions about eating, except to confirm that they were both going to meet their mothers before the kickoff dinner. Knowing what Jim was going through, Leta marveled at his ability to look like he didn’t have a care in the world as he left her in the foyer and mixed with the other cadets and their guests in the event hall. 

Jim had the perfect poker face, as if he wasn’t even in the game. Leta had the other kind of poker face, a neutral mask that hid thoughts and feelings that were anything _but_ neutral. 

Resting Physician Face was a necessary professional skill. It had been easy for Doctor McCoy to adopt as an adult, since it was first cousin to a face she donned as a child during social events with her parents. Unfortunately, the mask had a serious vulnerability in this non-professional setting with Actual Happy Families. It was almost certain to crack from exposure to Genuine Good Feelings, if she ran the gauntlet of smiling faces inside the banquet hall. A crack would break the levy of tension holding back a torrent of anxiety, thus spoiling the evening. So, waiting in the foyer was the more family friendly choice. 

The only thing to do while she waited was watch everyone else. Nearest the entrance, a Denobulan professor and his spouses, representatives of the species with arguably the most extended family, greeted guests for all they were worth. The Commandant of Cadets dominated the center of the foyer at the apex of a receiving line that included a few of the long-time instructors whom alumni relatives would remember. Captain Pike needed only his dress uniform to put on a damn good show all by his lonesome near the inner doorway.

When not subjecting families to his distinguished charms, Pike moved slightly so that he could see through the transparent walls into the venue. Leta knew what Pike was looking at. He was watching Jim’s inner diplomat emerging from the cocoon of braggadocio with which he had encased himself during the first year. He seemed to fit in with any crowd. Those who didn’t know him well were easily taken in by the social butterfly routine and underestimated his intelligence. It was a quality that would serve him well as an officer, Leta was sure. Jim’s laugh was recognizable, at least to his roommate, among the confluence of voices coming from the banquet hall. 

Jim was in his element while Leta felt out of her depth.

Fortunately, she wasn’t being asked to do anything else this evening except get through it. She didn’t have to stand in the receiving line, surely Pike’s doing. (Be that as it may, McCoy made sure to stand out of the Commandant’s line of sight so she didn’t get sucked into that vortex.) Tonight wouldn’t be the first time that Pike had told the bureaucracy how things were going to be done with respect to McCoy. The Captain had a vested interest in how the long-term fallout from the terrorist incident was handled. For one thing, McCoy was one of Pike’s personal recruits. For another, and more importantly, the Commandant passed that authority to the Captain, and captains liked to spray their scent on things.

Leta was aware months ago of a veritable war between the Recruitment and Retention folks, also known as the R&R office, and Security Division on how to capitalize on her notoriety without creating excess security risks.Her stubborn streak in refusing a ‘Fleet medal for valor proved to be good judgement, even though she did it as a fuck-off to the (now resigned) Surgeon General, since it would have given R&R more ammo. A rare award to a cadet on Doctor McCoy’s chest might have given R&R enough leverage with the Commandant to lobby for higher profile off-campus events and, from a security point of view, create more soft targets for groups like Terra Prime. The doctor being non-decorated contributed to R&R staff losing a major skirmish with SecDiv early on about taking her to schools. The Commandant, sick of the internecine warfare, assigned Captain Pike as the arbiter of decision making in future arguments between the groups. Pike was a starship captain who was a recruiter temporarily, not the other way around, so he came down on the side of SecDiv more often than not. His message was loud and clear: focus on the big picture.

Cadet McCoy suddenly realized that the Captain had turned around and was raising his impressive brow at her stare. She hastily faced front and focused on her own big picture. 

Leta honestly intended to get on a better footing with her mother this weekend for both of their sakes. There was also a purely selfish reason for reconnecting with family: she needed someone to come home to after her tour. Even if she accomplished the personal goal she set when she enlisted, not having someone to help her celebrate at the end of her hitch would be a hollow victory. There was no guarantee that she and Jim would be assigned to the same ship. There was no guarantee that she would have any close connections on active duty. If she wanted someone to be waiting for her, opportunities to restore broken family bonds while Earth-bound were dwindling fast.

Beginning NEURAD therapy for aviophobia detonated a realization that she was halfway through the Academy already. Soon, she would have medevac flight instruction and a training assignment _in space._

_(Note to self: never tell Jim “Teaseyoumore” Kirk anything about therapy. “I hate to break it to you, Bones, but Starfleet operates in space.” Jerk.)_

Going into space also meant there was _beaming_ in her future. Beaming while conscious, that is. Technically, she had already been beamed once, during the medevac from San Fran General to SFM. Fortunately, she didn’t remember it. The most efficient way to transport violated her sensibilities about staying _whole and intact_ almost as much as shuttling, without the visual cues. It didn’t matter to her phobia that sentient transport by beaming had been commonplace (though expensive for the private sector) and very safe for years. Shipping objects the same way had been routine for years before that. _“Unreasonable”_ was pretty much the definition of a phobia. 

Her mind couldn’t yet square the circle that beaming while broken – being broken even more, into infinitesimally small pieces – had been essential to restoring her own body to a whole and intact state (disregarding the non-essential, artificial body part). She developed a self-talk routine about beaming to save lives because someday soon she would likely have to order a medevac beam out with a patient of her own. 

All this thinking about space and beaming had her pulse and blood pressure going up, something she didn’t need right before a meeting that could turn into a confrontation with one misstep. She closed her eyes for a moment and visualized the target neural realignment pattern. Because of her limited experience with this NEURAD unit, it was hard to generate an anti-anxiety effect without the PADD yet. Even so, with focus she was able to bring her vitals down a bit. 

Leta redirected her self-talk to repairing her relationship with Ma.

The brief comm conversation several weeks ago was only the beginning of a patch-up procedure, like the incision for lancing a boil. The site of the infection was opened to allow the sickness to begin seeping out. Tonight, they would finally start cleaning the wound. 

Her comm alarm vibrated. Leta slipped through the doorway of a side room to await her mother’s imminent arrival.

____________

Practicing _savoir faire_ over finger food bled off some of Jim’s nervous energy while awaiting the arrival of the mother ship. Cocktail diplomacy also helped Jim glean information about people he would be graduating with, to confirm which ones were worth courting for coordinated assignment requests, to learn who he could trust. Most families couldn’t wait to talk about their cadets. 

Take the Sulus, for instance. Since they were from the west coast, several Sulu family members were able to attend the dinner. Cousins couldn’t wait to tease Hikaru, in front of friends, about his love of swordplay from the moment he could pick up a stick and his love of flying from the moment he could get on (not necessarily stay on) a hoverboard. With a captive audience, they made sure to retaliate for ten-year-old Hikaru whizzing around while poking them with a stick by describing his inevitable mishaps. They insisted his enlistment in Starfleet came as no surprise because it was the legal occupation most compatible with his favorite childhood roleplay: swashbuckling space pirate. What was family for but to make sport for each other?

Jim wouldn’t know. More accurately, he wasn’t sure. Lately, Jim had been getting more of an idea about people who felt like family, but he was still feeling his way along. One thing he knew was that inviting his mother was the right thing, the necessary thing, even if he was still working on why. (1)

Unfortunately, rumors about the widow of Captain George Kirk coming tonight had gotten around. A lot of eyes were on him for the wrong reasons, just like the old days. He would never give anyone the satisfaction of showing how much he hated it. On the contrary, he would turn the attention around on them. He would get to know the backgrounds of his future colleagues. Dealing with them would be easier if he could say to himself _“I know who you are”_ and mean it. People were primed to chat tonight, excited by the atmosphere and lubricated by the refreshments. 

Except Bones.

Jim glanced through to the foyer at his roommate, standing alone. She rubbed the skin behind her left ear, a tell that she was anxious enough to activate the new device. He had seen Bones massaging the same spot, while holding a PADD, facing their apartment wall-windows earlier this week. She _left the windows_ _transparent_ for about ten minutes before, flushed and sweating, shading the panels. Aviophobia therapy was the only conceivable reason Bones would do that. Jim looked for the implant _(“Not as attractive as your other one, Bones.”)_ and goaded her into explaining how it worked. 

They both knew the experience would be worthwhile, but painful. His wise cracks said the most important thing without being maudlin: _“I know you can do this.”_

Just like tonight. She can do this.

As Jim watched, his friend disappeared into a side room. That meant Mrs. McCoy would be here soon. He wished them a silent _“good luck.”_

____________

At 1800 hours, Eleanora McCoy walked into the banquet hall foyer, accompanied by campus security. She was holding a small clutch, aptly named, in front of her like a shield. Despite her unconsciously protective stance, she had taken pains to dress in a way that practically shouted _reconciliation_. No one had ever argued with Eleanora Barton McCoy’s skill at dressing the part. The colors she chose for her pantsuit were a warm peace offering in champagne and honey. The unbuttoned jacket telegraphed her openness to a new relationship with her daughter.

Eleanora paused inside of the main entrance and was immediately approached by a tall, athletically built officer with deep set, steel blue eyes and hair graying at the temples. They side-stepped the receiving line.

“Good evening. I’m Captain Christopher Pike,” he introduced himself in a gravelly baritone. 

Darren said this was the officer who had recruited her daughter. She could see why his sales pitch worked. It would be hard not to respect a man who radiated confidence like that.

“A pleasure, to be sure, Captain. I’m Eleanora McCoy. I’m here to see Doctor Leta McCoy, my daughter.” 

Captain Pike practically bit his tongue, stifling the urge to say he knew exactly who she was by her elongated vowels and green eyes. He dismissed the security officer and extended an arm in the direction of a side room. After escorting Mrs. McCoy, he withdrew as she stepped over the threshold. An accent table and two chairs were placed against the opposite wall. The room was small, made for _t_ _ête-_ _à-t_ _êtes_ like this. When the door closed, Eleanora’s world shrank to just thirty square meters and two people.

Being in the same room with Leta for the first time in six years took Eleanora's breath away. She forced herself to inhale deeply and check her body language. She consciously lowered her arms as she exhaled. 

Her daughter stood straight-backed and dignified in front of the table in that awful red cadet uniform with a pin at the collar and a black bag on her shoulder. Just because Leta wore the standard uniform that eighteen-year-olds were wearing, didn’t mean it looked the same on her. She carried herself with a self-possession that came with experience. There was no doubt she had come into her own over the past six years. Leta always had well defined features, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, intense brows, and a square-ish jaw. Her facial lines were sharper now, as was her gaze. 

Eleanora’s urge to defend herself in the face of intimate scrutiny was strong. The past six months had been painful, a throwback to the days right after David had been accused of embezzlement. The press was unrelenting since the terrorist incident, trying to get into the Homestead and digging up family history. Darren and his boys had chased reporters out of the cemetery. The saving grace was that a selfless act was the reason for the intrusive press. Leta was a hero now and, by extension, all the McCoys were too, except one.

A few of the extended family resented the intrusion almost as much as Eleanora did and, being McCoys, didn’t hold back in letting her know about it. Most of the clan understood and came to her defense. Everyone respected her brother-in-law Darren, who held a comm conference – required attendance for all adults legally bound to the Homestead – and told the whiners in no uncertain terms why it was in their best interests to _“shut it and deal with it.”_ The show of support helped, but nothing could completely erase the hurt from repeated reminders of her losses. 

Until the hostage crisis, Eleanora had ignored the need to mend the mother-daughter relationship just as much as Leta had. Suddenly, the near death of her only child _– on live holovid_ , no less – brought into shockingly stark relief a problem that Eleanora had been avoiding: how to move beyond bitterness before one of them passed away? Eleanora always assumed it would be herself to go first. Instead, Leta could have died before her mother, sacrificing herself without so much as a how-de-do. Leta was also in Starfleet, with an obligation for at least 5 years facing unknowns out in space. What if her daughter didn’t come back from the black and they hadn’t said a proper goodbye?

Yet, Eleanora’s old-fashioned tendencies insisted that the child should be the one to start mending fences, not the parent. It rankled her that Leta didn’t comm until after Darren intervened, _weeks_ after. Eleanora considered refusing the invitation to Family Weekend out of spite. 

Admittedly, Eleanora had made mistakes about David’s activities, but she also tried to keep the family together. Didn’t that count for something? Of course, Leta was devastated by David’s suicide and Donna’s murder, but so was Eleanora. Why couldn’t a daughter, now the only child, comfort her mother? Didn’t a mother’s grief matter too? Certainly, Eleanora’s commentary about Jocelyn had been crass, but it had also been honest. Did Leta have the sole right to be blunt? Her daughter acted as if she was the only one to have been hurt. 

Mrs. McCoy felt her internal pressure building as she and Leta stared at one another. Eleanora had hoped she was beyond this kind of anger, but resentments came rushing back when faced with her daughter’s seeming aloofness. 

With an iron will, Eleanora wrestled her anger under control and took another deep breath. 

“Leta…,” she whispered. And her daughter’s face softened into…a welcoming, an expression Eleanora hadn’t seen since before the shuttle crash. Suddenly, it was Mothers’ Day, Valentine’s Day, and her birthday all in one.

____________

Leta froze when Eleanora entered the room. The whisper of her own name in a voice from the past might as well have been a sonic boom as it cracked the Resting Physician Face. She half expected to see shards of her skin on the floor from the shattered façade. A reality-check voice in her head tut-tutted about histrionics: a relaxed face did not mean loss of composure. The voice also reminded her to be polite and put the damn bag down. 

Setting the med kit on the table to gather herself, Leta felt years of childhood conditioning pull at her to pay homage to a parent. The compulsion to please dueled with the memory of its price, and lost. Showing respect for Eleanora as her mother was proper, but nostalgia wasn’t enough of a reason for Leta to display a level of sentimentality she didn’t feel. 

She navigated the moment with a greeting in as warm a voice as she could muster, “Hello, Ma. Thank you for comin’. You look well.”

The lines one might expect around an older person’s eyes were barely there. Some kind of treatment, no doubt. Eleanora’s outfit was less tailored than was her wont in years past. Nonetheless, it was artfully put together. Doubtless, it had been specifically chosen for this occasion. Eleanora Barton McCoy believed it was better to arrive late than arrive ugly.

The two women stepped forward and gave one another a tentative one-armed embrace, barely touching. Leta smelled her mother’s cologne, the same from her childhood, and choked up. The tension in Eleanora’s shoulders was palpable, at least to a physician. 

By unspoken agreement, they pulled away. Leta cleared her throat. “Ma, I hope you don’t mind if we just start over for the moment. There are…things to say, but I’ll be damned if we say ‘em before dinner. If we start now, we’ll get too choked up to eat.”

Despite the pressure of being on call all weekend, Leta refused to force feelings on either of them right away. Using emotions as weapons was what estranged them in the first place. She could see a little of Eleanora’s stiffness recede at the hint about shared responsibility for the state of their relationship. 

Eleanora nodded, “That’s…good. Thanks for invitin’ me.”

Leta suppressed a sigh of relief. Ma wasn’t going to get her back up this evening. There was hope for them yet.

They stepped out of the small room, together.

____________

Winona Kirk, the closest thing to a grand dame in Starfleet, walked through campus towards the banquet hall with not one, but two security staff. A very unhappy driver was left at the hotel drop off point, disappointed that Mrs. Kirk decided to stretch her legs. It was the first time in years she had been on campus. Satisfying her curiosity about changes to her old haunts was best done by walking. It also gave her a few minutes to herself because ‘Fleet personnel were falling all over themselves to be helpful. It was annoying.

It was the burden of being the widow of a famous man. 

Saying the word _“burden”_ out loud would have others assuming she was ungrateful. Her husband’s passing was mourned often and he was eulogized regularly. After all this time, people still expected her to outwardly mourn him – to wear a black veil or some such thing – and make spontaneous grand statements about the importance of his sacrifice. It was so unreasonable.

That lesson took many painful years to learn.

Certainly, there was no denying Winona ached for George down to the very fiber of her being after his passing. She tried to keep a vow made at the height of her anguish in the escape shuttle that she would mourn him constantly and forever. The arrogance of young romance dominated her heart, leaving hardly enough room for a new baby and a small boy. When she and Jimmy returned to Earth, she rejected most of the offers from Starfleet to help her cope because she equated accepting help with accepting loss, and she equated accepting loss with betraying her husband’s memory. What a martyr she made of herself.

Winona’s tenacious grief played into the hands of certain factions in Starfleet who wanted to keep her in her place as the tragic widow of a hero of the Federation. Her status was a living representation of Noble Sacrifice, good for the image of the ‘Fleet. It made up for the dip in enrollment caused by the _Kelvin’s_ reminder to the public that space exploration really could be dangerous. Offers of assistance were withdrawn more quickly than they should have been. Naiveté on both personal and political levels blinded her to the subtle exploitation. Stupid.

She ground her teeth as she walked. From this point on, any future exploitation would be by her, for Jim’s sake. It was the least she could do to make up for the past.

Back when Jim was small, she bought into the expectation that, as an officer of Starfleet, she had to keep a stiff upper lip while wearing her heart on her sleeve. Looking back, she was embarrassed that she didn’t recognize the inherent conflict in that idea. No wonder ‘Fleet families broke apart, as hers did.

Winona imposed the stiff upper lip on her kids, telling herself they would be fine with her brother. She pretended that she could go back to her old life as if (almost) nothing had changed. She was so entangled in emotional incest with a ghost that she couldn’t see her brother for what he was. 

Her betrayal of George was her refusal to let him go.

In the aftermath of Tarsus IV, the realization that she had done what she had sworn never to do gutted Winona. She recoiled inwardly at the truth of how her self-indulgence had cost her baby his childhood and her first born…she might never know. The only penance she could offer was to change. She owed it to Jim not to repeat her wrongs, even if he hated her now. Winona absorbed his anger after Tarsus and transferred to the Riverside shipyard to provide whatever he was willing to let her give. He put her through heartbreak in retribution for the suffering she had left him to. She got it.

Despite her understanding, it almost broke her when he emancipated himself. Not the fact of it, but the way he had so obviously prepared for it to be on his birthday _._ She was relieved he took the special comm unit. All she could do after that was wait, and hope, for the comm that might never come. Her purgatory.

Winona was surprised when she found out from Christopher Pike, a friend of George’s, that Jim had gone into the Academy. She never thought Jim would enlist because he rejected comparisons to his father, expectations foisted upon him almost daily by other people in Riverside. She was proud of his enlistment. At the same time, she didn’t want Jim to experience the burden of a pre-determined role, herself being a prime example of how destructive that could be. Nevertheless, Jim must have taken something in those comparisons to heart. According to Pike, it was a dare that got Jim on a shuttle full of recruits. That fact ticked off Winona. 

She wasn’t angry that Jim enlisted. No question, Jim had incredible potential. It was the _way_ Chris manipulated the situation. Chris could be wily like that, even back in the Academy. Winona gave him a piece of her mind at the top of her lungs. Chris said he always intended to help Jim find his own path. She would hold him to it.

Hoping that she too could be part of Jim’s path someday, Winona continued to carry that special comm unit everywhere, like a talisman. She almost missed the comm from Jim because she didn’t believe it was pinging. Her hands were shaking so badly trying to answer that she almost dropped it.

_The screen indicated audio only. “Jim?” Her voice came out as a croaked whisper._

_“Mom, there’s a Family Weekend soon.” Winona bit her lip to not blurt out how much he sounded like George. “If you wanted to come, my roommate’s mother is also going to be here.”_

_Winona held back sobbing for joy at the non-invitation. It was obvious this was hard enough for Jim without her raising the emotional bar. “Thank you, Jim. I’d like that.”_

_“OK. I’ll text you details. Bye, Mom.”_

_“Good-bye, Jim.”_

Winona wasn’t stupid and she was more grateful than words could express. She wanted to know more about this miracle worker of a roommate. Of course, she contacted Chris Pike. It floored her that the roommate was female and, in fact, the same Doctor McCoy from the news vids. Chris went on to tell stories of the night he recruited Jim, things he just so happened to omit when he notified Winona about Jim’s enlistment. If the stories about fights, also involving McCoy, had come from anyone other than Chris, Winona would have dismissed them as so much fiction. 

He also gave her the inside story on McCoy’s hostage incident. Winona then looked up everything she could find on the family. The father was a fool and the family paid a steep price for his folly with Kodos, that _BASTARD_. 

Assuming Jim hadn’t told his roommate about Tarsus, and it was a safe bet he didn’t, there could be some hard feelings when it came out. Doctor McCoy wasn’t stupid either and would figure it out eventually. Winona hoped the cadets’ friendship, or whatever they called it, was strong enough to withstand the pain. 

But that was as far as her thinking would go on the subject right now. Pain was the last thing on the menu tonight. Just the opposite. This night was for healing, at least a little. She hoped. 

For the first time in years, she _had hope_ for herself and Jim as a family.

Approaching the banquet hall, Winona thought that, as she shucked off some of her burden – as she accrued more to look forward to than to mourn – maybe she could help Eleanora McCoy.

It had to be a much bigger burden to be the widow of an _in_ famous man.

____________

Arrivals were slowing. It was almost time for the receiving line to disband. Captain Pike saw the McCoys come back into the foyer from their private meeting, slowly ambling his way. They weren’t holding hands, but their body language wasn’t hostile either. _So far, so g–…not horrible_.

His attention snapped to the front when Winona Kirk strode through the door. It had been years since he last saw her in person. He had the same feeling as when he first saw Jim in Riverside, looking like his father. The experience was both familiar and disorienting, memories refracted like a stylus in a glass of water. 

Before the recruitment shuttle took off from the shipyard last year, Chris tried to track Winona down. That he failed was something of an achievement in stealth for Winona. A whole branch of Starfleet was in the business of tracking people, after all. The scuttlebutt that she kept to herself was true back then.

Not anymore, it looked like.

From the way she held herself, ruling the room in a royal blue dress that set off her blond hair, this was a coming out party of sorts. She clearly wasn’t here as an officer; she was here as a formidable maternal force. The Commandant picked up her signal. He broke ranks with his receiving line to greet Winona. Eddies of his entourage moved around to take holos from the best angles.

Pike remained in rear guard and looked for Jim. He saw the cadet calmly making his way towards the foyer, a carefully neutral expression on his face, the scintillating conversationalist of a few minutes ago muted. The chasm between mother and son was deep indeed.

From what Pike now knew of the family history, it was extraordinary that Jim invited his mother to anything, much less the entire Family Weekend program. Chris could tell Winona savored this opportunity by her glance at Jim and her next move. Between poses with the Commandant, she sweetly requested privacy for her time with her son this weekend. The predictable objection was met with her firm, albeit polite, response that official ‘Fleet holos of the Kirks together would result in her absence for the 25th anniversary of the _Kelvin_ incident. The Commandant picked up that signal loud and clear. The mother applied her leverage on her son’s behalf, even before she spoke with him for the first time in five years. A peace offering.

Jim’s face subtly relaxed. Chris took it as a sign that Jim might find enough forgiveness in himself to allow Winona to be a small part of his life from this point on. Having someone on his side who knew where he came from would help keep Jim grounded, no matter where he ended up.

Going into the black was not the hard part (although McCoy would argue that). The hard part was not losing yourself out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Jim's thoughts about his mother are described more in Reaching Out, Reaching Back.


	4. On Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weighing the good against the bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the day after posting this chapter, I went back and added a little more context to the ending.

Conversation between the four of them during Family Weekend dinner was stilted. The words were Standard, the risks anything but. There were waves of emotion to ply through, islands of divergent experience to maneuver around, and an undertow of mistrust.

To help navigate, Winona asked leading questions about Academy life of the _“do they still have/do/say…?”_ variety. For the most part, the Academy still did have/do/say, since ‘Fleet anchored itself in the familiar as crews voyaged to the unknown. 

Table talk moved from the shallows into slightly deeper water with personal commentary. 

Everyone agreed that the red cadet uniforms were horrible. Winona reassured Eleanora, a woman who spoke with her clothes, about the more flattering post-Academy uniform colors in the command/tactical and science/medical divisions. 

Eleanora looked at the two cadets with a critical eye, “That’s a relief, ‘cause blues and greens are about the only colors Leta looks good in. As for Jim, the blue would go with his eyes alright, but gold would set ‘em off, and that hair.”

Ignoring the backhanded compliment about herself, Leta nonetheless couldn’t let Jim get a free pass. “More comments like that and his head’s gonna be too big to fit through the neck hole of that gold shirt when we graduate, even accountin’ for the zipper.” 

Jim leaned into Eleanora’s personal space and grinned like a rogue. “My secret is revealed: the uniform was the whole reason I chose command track.” 

Leta shook her head with an indulgent smirk, “They should make a recruitment poster outta _you_ , to replace mine.”

He threw out his chest and arms, “I know, right?!”

Winona looked to be on the edge of bursting into tears from an overload of pride and too many other feelings to catalogue. Up until the uniform discussion, Jim had been uncharacteristically quiet, for the most part watching and listening to his mother. The sudden onslaught of Jamesian personality threatened to burst the dam of emotions for her. 

No stranger to dams of emotions herself, Leta let her sympathy divert the course of the conversation to give Winona a few moments. She resorted to what she knew best, medicine.

“Jim, between your hair, your teeth, and your uniform, your CMO is gonna have to prescribe eye protection to the whole crew.” 

“Too much awesomeness for you, Bones?”

That earned Jim an eyeroll, but any attempt to return the volley was completely cut off by the two older women, who simultaneously asked, _“Bones?”_ Jim’s unusual quietude had enabled them to get to this point in the evening without the nickname coming up. An explanation of it led to talk of other traditions in Georgia.(1)

Eleanora described the Homestead to the Kirks and gave a run-down of the more interesting recreational pursuits of the extended McCoy family. Jim was particularly interested in the still, the archery range, and the axe throwing arena. _(“And Bones calls my sparring practice dangerous!”)_

The non-compliment to Leta about uniforms should have been heeded as a warning of things below the surface.

Eleanora raised her brows in a smug look as she said, “And by the way, Leta, your uncle used _that_ money for a transporter. Built a separate barn for it an’ all.” 

“ _You_ are walkin’ in high cotton _now,_ ” the singsong reply was accompanied by a steely glare, which was all the Kirks needed to interpret Leta’s southern code talk correctly. 

_That_ money, not just any money. _You_ are _,_ not we are. That was then, this is _now._ The linguistic semaphore signaled an evening about to run aground, if someone didn’t steer hard about. Eleanora wasn’t bragging about being able to afford a private transporter (something that, literally, cost a fortune), she was getting in a dig. Or trying to. The target of Eleanora’s ire punctuated her defiance by raising her left eyebrow.

Jim knew that ancient, pre-tech codes, like semaphore, morse, Standard sign, and a few non-Terran equivalents, were part of Academy survival training. He also knew that learning eyebrow code was part of living-with-Bones survival training. This look fairly screamed, “ _I’m not taking any shit, even from my mother.”_

Despite the battle of the brows, Eleanora didn’t back down from the stare down until she noticed the discomfiture of the other family. The Kirks became very interested in the position of the food on their plates. Jim’s playful swagger about uniforms aside, the Kirks struck Eleanora as modest people. Nevertheless, this was their home turf. They might not think of it that way, but other people obviously did. Eating her words so that she didn’t cause trouble in someone else’s house, Mrs. McCoy momentarily looked like she had sucked on the lemon in her water. 

Moving on, Eleanora smoothed out her brow and her tone, “So, what do people do in Iowa for fun?”

“They don’t,” mother and son said at the same time with the same straight face, followed by a breakdown into similar sounding giggles, the only difference being pitch. They turned to each other with startled looks. 

Winona cleared her throat from another logjam of emotions and once again steered the chat into safer waters. She prattled on about all the things there really were to do in Iowa, although corn was a scarily common theme. 

Leta knew Jim could talk a dog off a meat wagon. It was easy to see where he got it from, no matter what else the mother-son relationship lost over the years. 

As for the mother-daughter relationship, Leta was still steamed at Eleanora’s shot across her bow. She allowed herself to be left behind in the wake of the repartee and her thoughts drifted to earlier in the evening. When the McCoys had met in the anteroom, Leta didn’t think Eleanora was spoiling for a fight. What wishful thinking that turned out to be.

She was tugged into the moment by a familiar taunting voice. “And where do think that corn for McCoy bourbon comes from, Bones? You should be thanking me, as an Iowan, every time you pour yourself one.”

James “Tormentyou” Kirk was at it again. He knew very well it was a dry weekend for her.

“No, Jim, I’m trying to forget you, as a jackass, every time I pour myself one.”

“But you’re thanking the rest of me, right?” And he winked.

“Keep dreamin’, y’man-child.”

Trading barbs with Jim was familiar territory and returned a sense of equilibrium. The little shit’s perceptiveness amazed her sometimes. 

The doctor’s own sixth sense, for sickness, was drawn to a nearby table. She grabbed her kit and ran to a Rigelian’s side, whose increasingly labored breathing could now be heard by others. Snapping out her comm, McCoy summoned an EMS team. By the time her part in treating the emergency was over, so was the dinner, and good riddance. Doctor McCoy never thought she would be grateful for anaphylaxis. 

Of course, she wasn’t going to say that to Jim.

____________

Leta slept a couple of hours out of sheer exhaustion, then tossed and turned until she got up at 0430 to make coffee. 

One of her donations to the household was an actual coffee maker and regular delivery of beans, so they didn’t have to drink that replicated swill. Jim raised his eyebrows at the expense, but his reaction at the first cup was priceless. She got a warm feeling from the memory, as from the cup she now held in her hands.

_“Ah! Bones, you’ve ruined me for waking up anywhere else.”_

_“Not many other people can get Jim Kirk to say that.”_

_“Not_ any _other people,” he corrected._

The warm feeling lasted until Eleanora’s needling from last night intruded on her thoughts again. The Homestead would not have had the money for a transporter if Leta had not given up her father’s fortune, which led to her breakup with Jocelyn, which led to her estrangement from her mother.

What would Ma say today?

Leta’s building apprehension was interrupted by Jim emerging from his room looking like he was sixteen years old. His hair was mussed and his t-shirt was skewed. His sleep pants were hanging on to his hips for dear life as he doddered to the kitchen. He looked adorable.

“I figured I wasn’t the only one havin’ trouble sleepin’, so I made a full pot.” Leta concentrated on getting her coffee past Jim and into the living room without looking at him too much. He was so distracting. She settled into the safe haven of the couch.

“Thanks. Sleep was shit.” Now holding a cup precariously, Jim shuffled after her. So much for a safe haven. Watching him from beneath her lashes, Leta wondered if the coffee would break surface tension and she would get to see him in wet clothes. Of course, the idea of Jim being burned underneath the wet clothes ruined that fantasy. Dammit.

Jim settled on the other end of the couch. “It’s like being hungover. Three more days like last night and class on Monday is going to be a relief.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m gonna have the pleasure of relivin’ it all with Dehner first thing Monday. It’ll be hair of the dog and not even a good time to show for gettin’ bit.”

“Bones, I need a lot more coffee and a universal translator for that one.”

“Monday’s gonna be replay hell for me, Jim. Howzat?”

“Better, thanks.”

They sipped coffee in silence until Jim spoke again. “Last night could have been worse. Your mom’s pretty…-impressive.”

“-angry.” Leta interjected at the same time.

“That too.”

“Coulda been a lot worse, but it’s not over yet by a long shot.” She took another sip. “I woulda said the same about your mom. Impressive, that is.”

“Not angry?”

“Not at you.”

Jim had a skeptical look on his face. Curious, but unwilling to admit it. “Who, then?”

“Starfleet for sure. Herself mostly.”

“Why not me?” 

“After what your family went through, no one is not visibly angry without thinkin’ they deserved to be punished.”

If they had been drinking tea, Leta would have said that Jim was reading the leaves in his cup for all that he seemed to be focused on it. 

Eventually, he asked, “So, I take it your mom doesn’t think whatever she went through was deserved?” 

“I’m sure she thinks a lot – maybe most of it – wasn’t.”

“What do you think?”

“At my sister’s funeral, I was so angry that I didn’t cry. Not one tear. The last thing I told Ma before seein’ her yesterday was that Donna’s death was her fault.”

“Woah. Do you still believe that?”

“She prob’ly – definitely – shouldn’t get as much blame as I put on her.”

“Do you think you can say that to your mom now?”

“I feel…unfinished…so, I’m not sure.” Leta got up for a refill. 

She stopped and looked back at Jim with a piercing gaze. “Can _you_ say it?”

From the look on Jim’s face, Leta could tell that neither of them knew the answer to that question, at least not yet.

____________

After breakfast, cadets were expected to give their families a tour of the campus. Fortunately, the Kirk-McCoy quartet had Jim as a guide to _everything worth seeing at Starfleet Academy while completely ignoring R &R’s suggestions._ It went without saying that the _Kelvin_ memorial and the crowds around it were not on their little group’s list.

Leta might not be able to predict what Ma was going to say today, but she had confidence in her mother’s habit to home in on social status. Eleanora would have looked up the Kirks at her first opportunity, probably in the toilet room at the banquet hall. The fact that Eleanora didn’t mention the _Kelvin_ monument confirmed for Leta that Ma knew these Kirks were _those Kirks._

The foursome walked side by side between and through less frequented areas, Jim insisting on Mrs. McCoy being next to him since she had never seen the campus before. Winona situated herself on Eleanora’s other side and Leta was fine with that. She hoped Jim’s constant narrative and Winona’s closeness might quell any efforts by her mother to throw down again in public. Probably wishful thinking again, but worth a try.

The twinge of guilt Leta felt at taking advantage of Jim’s natural showmanship evaporated when Winona leaned her way and whispered, “Don’t worry. He loves showing off how much he knows.”

“Better him than me. It’s a relief they’re not makin’ me give any recruitment speeches today since I have family here.”

Leta must have spoken too loudly because Eleanora’s voice floated over, “Well, at least I’m good for _somethin_ ’.” 

Well, hell. Apparently, trying to deflect Ma was _not_ worth a try.

The Kirks ignored the snide remark, again, for which Leta was grateful, again. Winona appeared content to listen to her son’s voice as the host-with-the-most, going by the smile on her face. Leta tuned him out and ruminated on the inevitable as they meandered in various spaces.

The dreaded mother-daughter talk would have to be soon, before another medical emergency occurred – possibly inflicted on each other. Yet, facing death by terrorists was less intimidating than facing feelings between McCoys. 

Doctor Dehner’s voice in Leta’s head had a lot to say on the subject. _“Clearly she’s trying to get your attention. How she’s going about it is probably not an accurate reflection of what she actually wants to say. Where do you think_ you _get it from? You said you wanted to talk to her too, unless you lied to me. **Make**_ _the opportunity or you will regret it for the rest of your life. No pressure.”_

BOOMbabaBOOM!

An explosion of sound made Leta throw herself against the door jamb of whatever room they had wandered into, holding a hand to her chest. She sagged into a crouch, taking in great gulps of air to catch up with the adrenalin dump. When her heart felt like it wasn’t trying to punch through her ribcage anymore, she straightened up. 

Looking around, she saw they had reached a music room she didn’t even know existed. The mothers were lowering their hands, as if they had covered their ears in anticipation of the noise. Jim-the-jackass was standing on a platform, cackling at the successful ambush of his roommate, next to the Tellerite drums he had pounded on. 

Leta wanted to pound on her soon-to-be-ex-roommate. “You know I cain’t do CPR on myself, right?!”

“I was just demonstrating tonality in communications, Bones. Besides, you needed a pick-me-up.”

“Not off the floor, fer cryin’ out loud!” 

Hopping down with a flourish, the prankster explained to the mothers (traitors) that communications classes and ceremonial occasions were held in the room. Along with the drums, instruments from the other founding worlds of the Federation, a Vulcan lyre, Andorian crystals, and a Terran grand piano, held pride of place on the platform.

Up until then, Eleanora sported a Mona Lisa-ish non-committal, but pleasant façade. Leta recognized the expression from soirees past as the look her mother cultivated when endeavoring to hide her real feelings from hosts. In the music room, Eleanora’s face blossomed with a genuine smile. Now, she was clearly in familiar territory, even mumbling in approval that the make of the piano was the same as her own. 

Since attempts to parse what to say to her mother were a waste of energy, Leta simply asked what was on her mind. “Do you still play, Ma?”

“Of course. What else would I be doin’ at home _by myself_?” 

Eleanora confidently stepped up to the dais, regaining a foothold on her personal solid ground, without waiting for an answer. Not that Leta was going to give her one anyway.

The others moved to seat themselves, but Winona and Leta lagged, waiting on Jim’s choice. Leta knew Jim had an almost obsessive preference for sitting where he could see the way out and the main attraction at the same time. Winona obviously knew it too, sitting near, but not next to, her son. Leta gave them space and sat several rows away. 

Leta noticed that Jim glanced at the doorway more than his wont, even accounting for his ingrained situational awareness. She followed his line of sight and glimpsed a Vulcan officer standing in the hall, hands behind his back. Leta hastily looked away, lest her scrutiny deter a music lover. Her mother was an accomplished amateur. It would be a shame for someone else to miss an impromptu performance by assuming they were intruding.

Eleanor settled herself on the piano bench and began to play. Expecting something dramatic and discordant, Leta was pleasantly surprised. The pieces Eleanora chose didn’t jive with her jagged words. The music was lyrical, sentimental, introspective, and one song was clearly a nod to Winona.(2)  The inner Dehner voice was right.

Winona’s head swayed slightly with the music. Jim had a wistful look on his face. Leta’s heart torqued at hearing pieces from a living room long ago, a younger Eleanora showing the twins what they could do _“if you only practiced more!”_ Joint piano lessons were memories she had buried along with her sister. 

_Neither of the twins were going to be as good as their mother, though more than passable for most people. The David McCoy branch of the clan didn’t attend (wasn’t welcome at) most family functions, but she and her sister became a hot commodity when they were pre-teens as a duet to play weddings. Their father was more than happy to show off his progeny despite the obvious opportunism of his relatives. Their mother put on her soiree face._

_After the first few times, the twins could script the pre-wedding patronizing speech from some older relative:_ “Aren’t you as cute as a bug’s ear in those dresses! You get to keep ‘em too. Isn't that nice? Now play the piano like we know you can and you get to run around with your cousins later.”

_No wonder the girls latched onto fencing, about as far from a keyboard as they could get, when they were introduced to it. What better way to shove it up everyone’s nose than with a sword?_

And yet, the good times stood out in bas relief from the bad, just as cynicism couldn’t redact the nostalgic images emerging like fuzzy holos from Eleanora’s performance. Giggling with Donna while making chopsticks sound as Mozart as possible. Their mother humming in pleasure while testing out her new piano as their father looked on in self-satisfaction. Praise from uncles and aunts, even under contrived conditions, felt good. Playing with cousins was a treat. On balance, they were still good memories. 

_Oh._

After the final chord faded, their soloist graciously received applause without getting up. Leta stole a glance and saw the Vulcan officer leave. 

Winona expressed her appreciation a little breathlessly, “Eleanora, that was beautiful.” 

“Thank you kindly.” The compliment was clearly received well, going by Eleanora’s return smile.

The afterglow didn’t last long. Eleanora abruptly beckoned with an arm, “Leta, come on up. It’s time.”

“Ma, I haven’t done this in _years_!”

“Then you’re overdue,” Eleanora said it like her daughter had forgotten to brush her teeth.

“Bones! You never told me you could play music.” Another country heard from.

“Because I cain’t, Jim. Not anymore. I’m a doctor, not Franz Liszt!”

Eleanora would not be denied. “’Course you’re not, but what you had’ll come back quicker than you think. So, get over here, Leta McCoy!” The _young lady_ part didn’t even need to be spoken to be heard.

“Go on, Bones, or next time your mom’s going to add your _middle_ name!”

Leta rolled her eyes. She knew what he was doing. Jim’s words when they first talked about Family Weekend came back to her, _“You wouldn’t have asked your mom to come unless there was a little bit of something good left between you, right?”_

She was being compelled to unlock a doorway to the past. Self-conscious about opening it, friendly audience or no, she footslogged her way to the dais. Dragging a second bench over, resigned to turning the black and white keys in the deadbolt, she settled next to her mother.

_Of course_ , Eleanora would go for the jugular, calling up on the piano’s menu the first duet Leta had learned with her sister. It was the song they played at almost every wedding when they were children.(3) Leta stepped across the threshold of time, beginning to plunk out a steady rhythm. Muscle memory took over and she didn’t totally embarrass herself. Ma was right.

Eleanora handled the difficult passages, improvising when necessary to cover a few missing notes from Leta.

_In her mind’s eye, Leta could see Donna’s hands crossing hers, reaching for notes. Donna could always tell when her twin lost concentration, could read her better than anyone, could read her like…music._

Near the end, Leta stopped mid-measure, “She did that for me too.”

Eleanora also stopped, “I know.” 

_Then Donna was gone. Leta’s sounding board, her interpreter, the one who most enriched her life, was an echo in her heart, reverberating across the chasm of the years, ultimately to fade away._

Leta could feel her heart constrict, she could barely breathe.

The older woman’s voice became shaky with emotion, “Leta, we can remember her together. _Please._ ”

The hands nearest one another entwined. It was impossible to tell who reached out to whom.

Eyes cast downward to hide their gathering moisture, Leta turned her head towards the Kirks and said softly, “Jim, Winona, I was wonderin’ if you could give us some time.”

“Sure, Bones. We’ll see you at lunch.”

Leta nodded once, then turned back towards her mother. Tentatively, her free arm came up to rest on Eleanora’s shoulder and she raised her head. They looked in one another’s eyes and tears began to fall. Suddenly, arms sought to hold each other in a crushing embrace, trying to make up for years lost.

The Kirks closed the door on a private performance of music for the soul, the fusion of long held grief with overdue comfort.

____________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) In this AU, McCoy’s alma mater is Emory University in Atlanta, GA, where the unofficial mascot is Dooley, a skeleton in fancy dress. When Kirk and McCoy first meet, Leta is wearing a Dooley t-shirt. That, plus the sawbones thing, plus a Shakespearean reference to bones…you get the picture.
> 
> (2) Eleanora plays a Debussy suite: The Girl with Flaxen Hair, Rêverie, Clair de Lune and Arabesque No. 1. I am convinced that Spock is a Debussy fan. 
> 
> (3) The duet is Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, played at countless weddings. This version is for four hands. It’s also a piece that someone who had not played secondo in a while might be able to pull off with a very indulgent audience and an adept primo. I realize that idea stretches credulity in terms of Leta’s lack of practice, but it’s fiction after all.


	5. Not Penelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes who you are is better defined by who you are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene of this chapter is the one that inspired the entire fic. I imagined the conversation between Eleanora and Winona, then asked: what brought them together? 
> 
> (The characters also want me to write about what happens next...)

Saturday, all four of them were all hiking in the headlands above the Golden Gate Bridge, Jim taking point. Bones may have agreed to the outing, but she certainly wasn’t going to lead the way to the view at the top. It made more sense for the doctor to bring up the rear anyway. If the moms had any trouble stepping onto or over obstacles, or controlling their descent on the way back down, Jim had the greater strength to assist them. The older women would deny any need for special consideration, so Jim was prepared with winning arguments. As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry about that because the moms seemed content to keep each other company, just like he and Bones had hoped. 

Jim couldn’t decide if their compatibility was absolutely predictable or totally surprising. Though they were of the same generation, the moms were a study in contrasts in some ways. Eleanora Barton McCoy didn’t hike, she strolled strenuously – and looked fine doing it. While shopping yesterday, she bought outdoor gear that said _if you have to ask about the price, you can’t afford it_. Winona, on the other hand, tromped along the trails in her well-worn boots, jacket, and not-matching favorite sun hat, thrown into her bag on intuition guided by midwestern practicality. She made no apologies for her clothing choices, as long as they got the job done. His mom gave in symbolically to Eleanora’s sensibilities by allowing the fashionista to straighten Winona’s layers. Otherwise, his mom took the what-you-see-is-what-you-get approach.

Similarly, there was no dissembling of what Winona wanted from Jim: his time. Upon leaving the McCoys to themselves yesterday, he and Mom simply wandered around until lunch. Jim braced himself for an attempted heart-to-heart and was relieved that she didn’t try it. Winona was content simply to spend as much time with Jim as he would allow. She seemed to know that he would push her away otherwise. That silent understanding was more communication than they had had in years. 

At least they were on the same sheet of music.

Speaking of which, Jim now believed that music really did have charms to sooth the savage breast. While the Kirk relationship was the sound of silence, the relationship between the McCoys had transformed from clashing melodies into chamber music in one day. The mini recital yesterday was an anthem for an armistice between mother and daughter, which turned into an alliance of sorts. They went from mutual sniping, to playing side by side, to grieving together – all in one morning – to unifying against a common enemy at lunch.

_The lunch mess rang with soft pings from many PADDs receiving a message simultaneously. It sounded like hundreds of tiny bells. Moments later, the ugly contrast of a squeal was heard from an adjoining table._

_“Jocelyn Darnell? I love her!”_

_A first-year communications cadet was the culprit. She proceeded to chat excitedly with her younger siblings about tomorrow afternoon’s Family Weekend concert lineup just received from the R &R office. The concert wasn’t required, but _strongly suggested.

_Jim sensed, more than saw, Bones’ posture stiffen. As he looked over at her, she slowly put down her fork and reached for her PADD. The tightness in Leta’s and Eleanora’s faces was identical. Bones looked at her PADD, then at her mother and…growled?_

_Jocelyn._ That _Jocelyn? Holy shitballs._

 _Jim didn’t give a damn about the R &R office’s expectations. His mother didn’t either; she had made that clear to the Commandant on the first night. Bones was staring off into space, mechanically eating what was left on her plate. He was sure that she wouldn’t be finishing it, except that she knew Jim hated wasting food. Glancing at her daughter with concern, Eleanora proposed doing something different tomorrow since concerts were low hanging fruit. Winona agreed, noting with a smile that Eleanora had given them one yesterday. Jim jumped in with the hiking suggestion, pointedly looking at Bones while citing _“panoramic views.”

_Bones turned to Jim and spat out a response, “Whatever the fuck will get me away from **her.”**_

_Jim marveled at how powerful an incentive avoiding Jocelyn Darnell was, that Bones would rather deal with her PTSD-inspired phobia than hear or see her ex, even at a distance._

_The four split up after that. The moms went sightseeing and shopping. Eleanora needed “hikin’ britches.” The cadets played chef and sous-chef back at the apartment in preparation for a family-style dinner._

_Jim was cutting meat for stir fry. “So, your ex is giving the concert?”_

_Bones was cutting vegetables. “Are you sure you want to ask me that with a knife in my hand?”_

_“I take that as a “yes” and I have a knife too.” He stopped to touch her shoulder and she paused mid-chop. “Come on, Bones, spill.”_

_Leaving the rest of the veggie dicing to Jim (“Maybe you’ll eat some if you prepare ‘em.”), Bones cracked (smashed) eggs with the intent to separate the whites for whipping. Jim was glad she no longer had a knife in her hand._

_Leta told him about her resentment towards Eleanora related to her sister’s death. Jim knew the facts, but his friend had never described her feelings about her mother's role. He decided Uncle Darren had been too hard on his niece._

_They went through twice as many eggs as needed to get the whites that the recipe called for. Jim strained, cooked, and ate the anger management eggs._

_Beating the egg whites into submission by hand, Bones told the story of her bad romance and the failed proposal. “I was so convinced we were in love, I couldn’t see straight. I don’t regret givin’ up the inheritance from my father. What I regret is not seein’ the false pretenses of my relationship with Jocelyn. She was foolin’ me and I was foolin’ me too.”_

_Then Bones described the conversation that estranged mother and daughter for years. “Ma and I’re in a better way since yesterday, Jim. But, I won’t lie, it still hurts. I’m just tryin’ not to throw the baby out with the bathwater anymore.”_

_He simply nodded because he felt the same way about Winona. Jim supposed metaphors made hard feelings a little easier to talk about, putting them at arm’s length. He smiled inwardly at his own use of a metaphor to describe metaphors._

_He changed the subject to something less mind bending, yet necessary to talk about. “You sure you’re gonna be OK tomorrow, Bones? It’s not exactly mountain climbing, but we’re going to be pretty high up on a giant rock.”_

_Leta’s expression was fierce when she turned to him, “Seein’ Jocelyn again, even at a distance, would put me in a bad place. Between a rock and a hard place, I choose the rock.”_

So, today they were on said rock. 

The foursome trod up, up through ethereal woodlands and quilted scrub growth. A water break allowed Jim to assess everyone’s stamina. At the beginning of last evening’s dinner, Jim used this outing as an excuse to propose early shut eye. Everyone agreed and had kept the conversation light, easy to break off after dessert. That decision was proving to be a good one, given that Eleanora just pulled a collapsible walking stick out of her pack and proceeded to unfold it. Jim took that as a signal to ease off the pace for the moms. 

When scrub gave way to dry grasses, focusing on Bones helped Jim not think about barren ground and famine on a planet far away. She seemed to be handling the elevation change so far. Probably because there were still a lot of gradual rolling slopes between the trail and the ocean. That was going to change shortly when they got to a scenic overlook. Jim turned slightly to glance back at her. Apparently, Bones had looked up the route and was using her NEURAD in anticipation of being confronted with a potentially triggering view. He saw her massaging behind her ear while focusing on the ground in front of her.

The overlook was at the apex of an area that had been reshaped during the war. It wasn’t a sheer cliff exactly, but chunks of rock had been blasted away, leaving steep, random cuts down to the water’s edge. Occasional bushes tenaciously clung to life on ridges between the fractures. 

Since they were on the approach to an overlook, it was a little surprising they hadn’t seen or heard anyone yet. Trails up here were a centuries’ old custom and popular to this day. A few meters from the crest of the ridge, they finally heard voices. 

These sounds were not the expected “oohs” and “aahs” of nature lovers admiring the sparkling Pacific below. As the wind shifted around, they could distinctly make out a woman’s terrified shouting, “Craig, don’t make me! You promised not to make me! You said I could just watch!”

“You’ll do what I say, ya chicken shit bitch!” a man bellowed back.

Jim was already sprinting to the flat area at the summit as the sounds of a struggle ensued and the woman screamed.

He saw a beefy man about Jim’s height facing the ocean near the edge of a precipice. The flat gravel area was darkly scarred, with the disturbance leading to the point where the marks disappeared into thin air. Dirt particles were still blowing on the breeze from having been violently disturbed. A hover pack, illegal to use in this restricted airspace, sat on the ground about 10 meters away, along with a cooler surrounded by empty bottles. Beefy Guy jerked around and took a few steps towards Jim with his arms out, ready to fight. Jim recognized the bartender from last weekend.

Jim held his arms wide, palms out, “We just want to help her.”

“Get the fuck outta here, kid! It’s none o’your business!”

“Somebody being thrown down a hill _is_ my business. And I even brought a doctor with me.” He could hear the women just stepping up to the top. “Stay back ladies, until this _gentleman_ and I finish our _discussion_.”

Jim smiled wickedly. He hadn’t been in a fight in while. It was going to be fun beating down an abusive bastard like Frank. 

Beef-Jerky charged with a roar. He had a mean right cross, but Jim was faster, landing a couple of shots solidly in his opponent’s midsection. Then he twisted around to kick the legs out from under Jerk-weed, who hit the ground with grunt. Jim ended up facing the way they all just came up the trail. Beefy looked at the women as he scrambled to his feet. 

Bones had already traded her backpack for her mother’s walking stick and stepped in front of the moms. The cadets exchanged a quick look that said they both knew she was bluffing against someone this big. She was just hoping to herd Big Beef back to Jim.

“Back off, cunt!” Oooh, Beefmeister had a mouth on him.

Jim was glad to see Bones kept her cool. “No need to be so rude! I know how to use this, but we’re just gonna watch the show.”

Jim’s smile returned. Without taking his eyes off of Beefcake, he shouted good naturedly, “Just like old times, Bones!”

Bad Beef made a feint towards the women, betting that Jim would make himself vulnerable on their behalf, then tried to reverse clothesline Jim with an arm the size of a small tree. Jim could almost read Beefeater’s mind. He made the expected movement – his own feint – dodged the tree, and pinned it behind Beef Boy’s back. Jim established a choke hold before Beef Chief could worm out of anything. Between the alcohol breath and the BO, the guy smelled _worse_ than a cow up close.

“Bones! Put him out!” Jim grunted. Just like old times indeed. The combatants fell to the ground as Beef-Au-Juiced began to lose consciousness.

Leta traded again with Eleanora and whipped a mini-scanner out of her pack. Winona was already comming security.

“No can do, Jim! He’s had a lot to drink.” As she was saying this, the doctor quickly prepared three hypos. She jabbed them into Jerk-off’s shoulder in quick succession. The guy went limp and Jim let go.

Bones waved the moms over behind her. “He’s not unconscious, but he can’t hurt anyone right now. Tell the medics I gave ‘im alcohol detox, triox, and a peripheral muscle relaxant. Here’s the hypos for confirmation.” Beefster groaned from the ground. “If he tries to get up, kick ‘im in the balls!”

In the meantime, Jim ran to the rim of the overlook and started looking for the woman. The drop had enough terracing that a figure could be seen about 30 meters down on a ledge about 5 meters deep and at least twice as long. Displaced rocks and plants told the story of a roll in stages down several rock faces to where she had stopped. She was crumpled against a small, gnarled tree whose roots formed a netting against the outcropping where it clung to life, so there was a chance the woman was clinging to life as well. 

Bones, who was now standing next to Jim, looking down at the victim while viciously rubbing behind her left ear, apparently thought so too. “I have to get down there, Jim! She could still be alive!” 

The only equipment they had was the illegal hover pack that Mr. Beef was apparently intending to use. 

They weren’t waiting for security.

Jim retrieved the harness. “You’ll hate this!” His voice ended on a high note as a warning. 

“I know I will!” She looked at him with frightened eyes, but a determined jaw.

Making a _come here_ motion with the toss of his head, Jim held out the harness openings with the obvious intent of strapping them together. Ironically, that’s what Ol’ Beefy was going to do until he threw his girlfriend off the cliff for not wanting to fly with him while he was wasted. Dick.

“Buckle up, Bones!” 

Leta strapped her med pack to her front, stepped into Jim’s personal space, turned around, and fastened the hover pack straps around her legs and torso. He ignored the fact that they were vertically spooning. He would get back to that later. Jim had one arm around Bones’ middle and the other working the controls.

The hover pack lurched on the initial take off from the front-loaded center of gravity. Bones’ arms clamped onto his.

“I might throw up on you!” The wind coming off the ocean carried Leta’s words back to Jim.

He spoke into her ear and could feel her jump in the harness, “Close your eyes and breathe, Bones.” Knowing the way to the doctor’s stomach was through her profession, he added, “If you upchuck, the chunks won’t hit me; they’ll end up on your patient.” He felt her take a series of deep breaths.

Their feet touched down a couple of minutes later a few meters from the victim, but Jim never deactivated the hover so as to provide support until Bones got a firm footing. She undid the straps, heaved her pack onto her back, re-fastened and tightened the straps for Jim, and scrambled on all fours over to the prone form. 

Scanner in hand again, the doctor yelled to be heard above the wind, “She’s alive! I’ll do what I can ‘til someone gets us outta here!”

“Bones! Get your comm out and keep it on!”

Jim returned topside to find the civilian Department of Emergency Services materializing on the scene. A medic ran to the downed man and Winona gave him the spent hypos, all the while talking about the woman pushed over the edge. The moms were quickly separated by officers to give statements. Other officers were collecting evidence.

A lieutenant, a medic, and an officer with a drawn phaser strode up to Jim as he shucked off the hover pack. He didn’t hesitate to hold up his hands. Technically, he had done something illegal by using the pack and he didn’t want to be on the wrong end of a phaser stun. 

“Doctor Leta McCoy is treating the victim _down there_! You can get her code from my comm, in my left front pocket.” Jim didn’t move when the Lt. took his comm and gave it to the medic. He swallowed his bile when the officer patted him down for weapons. He felt like he was back in Iowa after a particularly bad bar fight. At least the phaser was holstered now.

DES communicated with Bones about triage (Jim heard her shouting the words _pneumothorax_ and _open fracture_ and _concussion_ through the comm), made sure Jim heard how _stupid_ that rescue stunt was without proper equipment, and how _illegal_ it was, took his statement, and transported Beefy away. Jim bristled at a slam on Bones for going along on a hover ride, like she did it for fun. Besides, Jim knew that a punctured lung was life-threatening, which fucking proved that they did the right thing. Though sorely tempted, he didn’t argue out loud, mindful that some of the DES officers were just looking for an excuse to _“give a ‘Fleet brat a_ real _education.”_ Jim didn’t regret his decision to use the pack, but he knew the only way out of this legally, and – more importantly – with the Academy, was to keep his nose clean while in custody.

The moms and Jim were taken to a DES station. They were questioned again and Jim was scolded some more. Eleanora did her own scolding about how rude they were for keeping her in the dark about her daughter. Mostly to calm the mother down, DES confirmed Doctor McCoy was transported directly to Starfleet Medical with the victim. 

Much to the annoyance of the station Chief, the moms refused to leave the lobby after questioning. They were determined to stay until the disposition of Jim’s case was decided. Jim could see Winona through the transparent wall comming someone. By the looks the moms were getting, all DES station personnel now knew who they were. Then the press started showing up. 

The Chief liked his position, thank you very much, and didn’t need any bad publicity for tossing the widow of one Starfleet hero and the mother of another out into the street. So, the women were allowed to stay and were even escorted into a conference room with Jim. He appreciated the symbolic support, bracing himself for at least a citation, possibly worse. 

To his shock, he was being released into Captain Pike’s custody without civil penalty, _“in consideration of the humanitarian intent of your actions.”_ Shock turned to shit when Pike arrived to collect them. The man was obviously _furious_. His hands were fists when he wasn’t signing PADDs for Jim’s release and the muscles of his jaw were working overtime. Pike escorted them to the back of a waiting flitter, sat stiffly up front, and didn’t say a word during the drive back to the Academy.

At his office, Captain Pike asked Eleanora to wait in an anteroom with refreshments from his Yeoman. Taking Jim and Winona into his inner sanctum, he let loose. Pike repeated the official opinion of Jim’s actions as a reckless stunt. Furthermore, the Captain was obligated to formally notify Jim that he would be facing Academy disciplinary action for using a hover pack in restricted airspace. Winona didn’t escape the Captain’s wrath either. He criticized her for not even attempting to pull rank to stop her son, though no one had any illusions that Jim would have done anything differently. 

Jim stood stoic throughout. He and his mom could take whatever ‘Fleet dished out. They had been through worse together. The lecture didn’t bother him until Pike said that Doctor McCoy would be facing a Medical Board of Inquiry. Then, Jim had to grind his teeth to keep from saying something most definitely insubordinate. Grunting in satisfaction for finally getting a reaction from Jim, Pike allowed himself to pick up a comm from Doctor Boyce at SFM while the Kirks were standing at attention. 

They overheard the senior physician confirming that timely action on the part of the cadets had saved the young woman’s life. To top it off, McCoy was allowed to use her improved neural grafting technique on the brain injury. The victim would make a complete recovery, or darn close to it, after rehab.

When the comm ended, Winona smiled sweetly, “You were _saying_ , Christopher?”

Jim figured that his disciplinary action should be canceled out by a commendation for keeping a straight face.

____________

People tried to surreptitiously snap holos of Eleanora and Winona as they walked across campus to breakfast on the last day. 

“How do you deal with _them_?” Eleanora waved her arm towards the holo-takers. “Years ago, with all the…things about my husband, the press was brutal. After my other daughter died, they went away. Since Leta’s hostage rescue in the spring, they won’t leave the family alone. Now, it’s gonna be worse. I commed my brother-in-law, Darren, to warn him about yesterday addin’ fuel to the fire. The press thinks it’s an epic saga: _The Fallen Family Redeemed!_ ” 

Winona put her arm around Eleanora’s shoulders. Several more comms popped up. The next week, _Fleet Family_ magazine would have a feature article on _“Mothers, Wives, and Heros”_ below a picture of their embrace. The article would include an account of the hiking incident.

“First of all, Eleanora, I have to tell you I’ve made some big mistakes in my family life, mistakes that can never be fixed. So, I’m not perfect.”

Eleanora nodded as they turned onto a covered walkway.

“Right after George died, the officers who knew him offered to help me, but I was too deep in my grief. I told myself letting anyone help was giving up, which was stupid. As people were reassigned, the PR machine and the press swooped in. For a time, I let them play me as the widow of a martyr – and the widow _as_ a martyr.”

“I was angry at everybody, including myself, angry at life. No amount of counseling could fix it because I _didn’t want it to be fixed_. At the same time, a part of me deep down felt guilty about being angry, especially at Jim. Then I was _righteously_ angry about being made to feel guilty. It was a vicious circle.”

“It took me years of bad decisions to learn that we get used to that adrenalin rush of righteous anger. We’ll do what’s necessary to keep it going, even though it hurts us and our loved ones in the long run. It’s powerful and makes use think we’re more in control than we really are.”

Eleanor looked pained, “Easier said than done to get rid of.”

Winona replied, “I didn’t get rid of it.”

The other woman was puzzled, “I don’t understand.”

Winona threw out her hands, “Maybe I can explain this way: I don’t know much about literature, but Jim used to read everything he could get his hands on and we have quite a library of paper books at the house. I read one of those epic sagas you mentioned, _The Odyssey.”_

“I’ve read it,” Eleanora wasn't sure where this was going.

Winona continued, “I was Penelope, hanging on for years, long enough that I almost lost both my sons. I still don’t know what happened to my first born.” She paused, obviously choked up. “Well, I refuse to be her anymore!”

“I know my analogy isn’t perfect. Let’s just say I’ve unraveled the old cloth and I’m using the remnants to weave a new cloth, like she did. _Except_ , I won’t make a burial shroud this time. I’m making a blanket, a blanket for the living, not the dead. Even if Jim never trusts me completely, we’ll still have something warm to share.”

Eleanora sighed, “Sounds nice.”

Winona went on, “Now, back to your original question: I’ve learned to accept that some of what popular opinion is saying is OK.” She replied to Eleanora’s astonished look, “I agree they’re always rude, it’s just that sometimes they’re intention is also right. Humans _need_ epic sagas, even in the 23rd century. Maybe _more_ in the 23rd century. That’s why we’re still reading _The Odyssey_ thousands of years after it was written. BUT,…” Winona paused for dramatic effect, “…that doesn’t mean you can’t _manipulate_ popular opinion! That comm I made at the station was useful.”

The two women chuckled. They walked in silence for a while.

Eleanora asked, “Do you think they’re seein’ each other? They’re roommates, but they didn't say they're a couple.”

Winona shook her head. “I don’t think so. Jim’s never had a serious relationship, that I know of. Your daughter was serious with that Jocelyn Darnell, am I right?”

Eleanora nodded, “Yeah, it was serious, then it was heartbreak. She didn’t speak to me for six years because of somethin’ I said about the girl. ‘Course, our family breakup was a long time comin’ ‘cause of that anger you were talkin’ ‘bout earlier. Things are better between us since the other day, but I’m not sure I can make a blanket out of what’s left.”

Winona stopped and gently nudged Eleanor’s arm to bring them face to face. 

“Eleanora, even if you don’t think you can make something out of the old (which I think is wrong, by the way), you still don’t have to be Penelope. You don’t have to waste time thinking about the past in the same way and waiting for something magical to fix it. Sometimes it can’t be fixed, it just is.” 

“The past can be something you work _around._ Like going around a boulder in your garden. You recognize it for what it is, you make it part of the landscaping, but you leave it there and move on. I think our kids understand that too, in their own way, and that’s why we were invited here this weekend. That’s what gives me hope, something I almost lost.”


	6. Reframing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And now for something completely different..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TOS episode “Friday’s Child” is full of holes big enough to fly a starship through. The original script by DC Fontana would have been a little better, had the higher ups not messed with it. Nonetheless, they left nuggets of interest for me to play with.

_Capt/CPike: Chris – We can’t have you sitting on your ass the whole time before the Enterprise is ready. I'm sure you want to stretch your legs too. You' re going to hitch a ride with Steve Garrovick and make some new friends. Except for the requirement to take Lt. Cmdr. Jakub “Jake” Novak, you have a lot of latitude about who else you take on this mission. Recommend meeting with Jake first to discuss your choices before running them by me. Resources will be allocated through Jake’s office. Looking forward to your mission pre-report due stardate 2256.300. – Adm/GLiu._

**MISSION BRIEF: CAPELLA IV**

Departure scheduled stardate 2256.320, _USS_ _Farragut,_ Capt. S. Garrovick. Estimated return stardate 2257.015. 

BACKGROUND

OBSERVATION PERIOD: TWO CAPELLAN YEARS

METHODOLOGY: PASSIVE RECORDING; HIGH ORBITAL SCANNING; SAMPLING; DIRECT OBSERVATION

DIRECT OBSERVATION AND FIELDWORK BY: NOVAK, JAKUB, LT. COMMANDER/Ph.D.

MISSION BRIEF AUTHORED BY: NOVAK, JAKUB, LT. COMMANDER/Ph.D.

AGENCY: BUREAU OF INTERPLANETARY TREATIES, XENOCULTURE DIVISION

SCIENTIFIC/TECHNOLOGICAL SUPPORT: _USS COUSTEAU,_ CAPT. C. LATHE

Linked databases, holovids, holomaps, sensor readings, reports, and audio recordings are incorporated as part of this document.

Biology/medicine (general):

One sentient species, humanoid, non-telepathic, non-empathic (confirmation required), heme-based circulatory/respiratory system, referent biology – human, omnivorous. See linked holovid file.

genders – male and female, sexual maturity approx. 16 years

male height/weight – approx. 2.15 meters/135 kg

female height/weight – approx. 2 meters/112 kg

adult mortality rate (non-combatants) – estimated increase from 18% to 33% during observation period, see Mission Parameters

infant mortality rate – estimated increase from 1% to 11% during observation period, see Mission Parameters

Physicians, called healers by Capellans, are uncommon since death is considered honorable if a fatal wound or illness is obtained in the course of a person’s occupation or role and extraordinary measures are generally considered to diminish such honor. The few extant healers are females beyond reproductive years since they also function as midwives. Medicines are herbal teas, tinctures, and extracts. Plants with medicinal qualities are cultivated, with some exceptions that require harvesting from the wild. Pain relief prior to an honorable death is achieved with a local fermented beverage, also used to prepare tinctures. Surgery is limited to suturing with gut and crude needles. 

Environment:

Class M planet with chlorophyll-based plant life. Hodgkin’s Law of Parallel Planetary Development applies. The vast majority of Capella IV’s population, including political leadership, lives in an area with a cool, dry summer climate. See linked databases for analysis of plant species, animal species, ecological network, and climatology in the vicinity of Capella IV’s sentient population.

Geology:

Capella IV has an abundance of topaline, a mineral used for Federation colony life-support systems. See linked holomap for topaline distribution on Capella IV. A linked geological analysis provides topography, chemistry, and recommendations on mining and restoration techniques, if this mission exceeds its goal and proceeds to negotiations. 

Socio-Political System: 

Caste system in descending order of value/power – warrior/hunter, farmer/crafter/scribe, merchant, outcast (usually executed).

In the farmer/crafter/scribe caste, those involved in the fabrication of weapons, such as blacksmiths and hilt makers, are more valued as a sub-caste than other crafters. Scribes are the smallest sub-caste, only in service to tribal leaders. By definition, scribes are literate, but literacy is not exclusive to scribes. Scribes are responsible for recording intertribal agreements and any intertribal marriages.

In general, occupations and castes are inherited. Instances of cross-caste migration are the subjects of legends passed down by oral tradition. Such legends are intended as lessons of courage (lower caste to warrior/hunter caste) or cowardice (warrior/hunter caste to outcast and subsequent suffering/death).

Although it would appear to the unobservant that Capellans believe “only the strong shall live,” that is an oversimplification of their way of life. Honor, and the opportunity to participate in honorable activities according to caste, is as important as strength.

Capellan society is a patriarchy with extremely rigid, dualistic gender roles. Females are considered the possessions of males. A male touching an unrelated female or receiving a gift from an unrelated female is a challenge to another male’s ownership of her. If the female is not married, the most senior male relative will negotiate for her transfer to the challenger. If the female is married, a challenge results in physical combat. Rape is punishable by death.

There are very few circumstances, including providing medical aid, to the limited extent it is practiced, in which it is acceptable for an adult female to initiate touching of or allow touch from an adult male who is not her spouse or child. This restriction includes other close blood relatives, first through third degree. Incest is punishable by death. Similarly, an adult female does not speak to males outside third degree relatives without permission of her spouse or nearest adult male relative or clan patriarch, or only under exigent circumstances.

Father/mother/child(ren) units are organized into extended families or clans according to the father’s ancestry. These clans are called the Ten Tribes. Each of the Ten Tribes is led by an Ahteër (ə-tē-ŭr). One of the ten Ahteër is selected by a majority of the remaining nine to become the High Teër (tē-ŭr), or overall leader. The High Teër position is analogous to an ancient Terran inherited monarchy with primogeniture through the male line, disrupted by periodic coups after assassination. The tribe from which the High Teër originates has greater socio-political influence than the other tribes. Coup attempts are usually prompted by perceived failing of the High Teër to adequately provide for resource distribution or common defense, although power shifts for political ambition have been known to occur.

The names of the Ten Tribes are as follows: Ūka’alot, Va’akot, Meërin, Na’abet, Crellïn, Dorsu, Ke’ën, Cruth, Serït, and Büstom. As of this report, the High Teër comes from the Ūka’alot tribe. 

Since governance is based on alliances among the Ten Tribes, Capellans are specific when identifying levels of cooperation in relationships. Proven dishonesty, theft, or other crimes are dealt with harshly, up to and including execution. Ahteërs and the High Teër represent the legal system in Capellan society.

The highest form of alliance is “woüt-friend,” an ally with whom a warrior is willing to hunt the fiercest known predatory species, the woüt. See linked holovid. Due to the size and ferocity of the animal, hunting woüt requires hunt participants to work cooperatively, risking death should any in the hunting party decide to betray his fellows. Woüt pelts accent the clothing of warriors (see Dress) below. Woüt meat and its pelt are distributed among those who participated in the hunt. Therefore, to be called a woüt-friend is to be considered a trusted ally with whom a warrior is willing to share essentials and for whom he is willing to risk his life. Although derived from the warrior/hunter class, the term is used by all castes to indicate an intimate, non-sexual relationship of implicit trust. Betrayal of such an alliance is punishable by death of the purported traitor and his offspring.

An alliance of convenience is known as a “crït.” This relationship could be described by the Terran phrase “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” It signifies a fleeting or insubstantial alliance that will be dissolved if/when circumstances change. For an alliance to move from crït to woüt-friend status is cause for celebration, often including a celebratory meal and contests of skill/strength.

It is considered good form for a male guest to provide “ma’at kïr-ul,” or a “service of the hearth,” in the form of an heroic tale for the host Teër’s entertainment. 

A guest who takes advantage of a host, e.g., by theft or overuse of resources without replacement, regardless of caste, is called “luüg,” a grave insult synonymous with the name of a poisonous insect.

Religion:

Females maintain household shrines for the worship of ancestors whose deaths were considered to have been honorable. Corpses are buried. Tools of the trade for each caste (e.g., sword of a great warrior, awl of a crafter) are venerated as family heirlooms. Religious rituals other than burial have not been observed, although lack of observation is not dispositive of their occurrence.

Science/Technology/Communications (general): 

It is hypothesized that Capellans have the intellectual capacity to grasp advanced communications, scientific concepts, and engineering principals, and will likely develop them over time. However, the caste system will shape progress in these fields. Intellectual pursuits are valued by Capellans only to the extent that they directly or indirectly benefit the warrior/hunter caste. Furthermore, technology that does not require physical strength, stamina, or dexterity to create or manipulate is regarded with deep suspicion as it is considered to subvert the dominant warrior/hunter caste. 

Technology - pre-warp, pre-industrial

Chemistry - Metallurgical (iron age) and other fabrication demonstrates a practical understanding of materials science as it relates to manufacturing, cooking, and medicine at the Capellan technological level. It should be noted that Capellans lack the degree of superstition often encountered at this stage of development.

Mathematics – arithmetic; geometric principals related to construction of infrastructure

Physics – practical understanding of mass/force relationships, especially related to combat

Communications - With respect to spoken and written language, Capellans have readily incorporated phrases in Standard into Capellan vocabulary from exposure to mixed species raiders/scavengers. UFP observation posts on the planet have found confirmatory visual and physical evidence of first contact by others, including mixed species raiders/scavengers and the Klingon Empire. At least one scribe has learned the rudiments of Standard grammar and syntax from a captured raider. See linked holovids for non-UFP first contact proofs. Physical evidence has been forwarded to SFI for analysis. It is of note that, despite recent intense interaction with Klingon representatives, all Klingon words have recently disappeared from Capellan conversation (see Mission Parameters for recent Capellan/Klingon interactions). 

Capellan warriors use sign language in hunting and combat to the extent practicable, with variants in each of the Ten Tribes. See sample in the linked holovid. Recordings were not obtained for every Tribe and recorded samples are grossly incomplete.

Dress: 

Adult males – textile tunic and leggings accented with furs from prey hunted by the wearer himself, leather boots from prey hunted by the wearer himself

Adult females – textile long tunics accented with furs obtained by a spouse or nearest male relative, leather boots with material obtained by spouse or nearest male relative, spouses of Teërs wear ornamental veils as an indication of social status

Weapons:

Upon coming of age at sexual maturity, male Capellans in the warrior caste are trained in the use of a kleegat, a three-bladed, circular weapon about 20 cm in diameter with a range up to 90 meters when thrown. Each blade is two-sided and approx. 12 cm long. Experienced Capellan warriors can achieve extreme accuracy with a kleegat. Warriors also wield a knife and/or sword to finish a kill since kleegat are not designed to return to the thrower. Due to Capellan height, their fighting knives would appear as short swords and their swords would appear as broadswords, respectively, to the average human.

Every adult Capellan, regardless of gender or class, carries a concealed or unconcealed blade.

Capellans do not use projectile weapons, including bows/arrows or slingshots. 

Architecture:

Permanent settlement locations exist, but tents continue to be the primary housing structure due to the periodically unstable nature of the political hierarchy. Inter-tribal conflict and regime change can result in relocation of large sectors of the population. Rapid displacement is facilitated by structures that can be moved.

Settlements are generally located within a day’s walk of rocky foothills to provide shelter for portions of the populace fleeing armed conflict due to the periodically unstable nature of the political hierarchy. See linked holomap.

Advisories:

Strongly advise UFP landing party composition of all or nearly all humanoid males. Any female in a landing party should “belong” to a male in the landing party for the duration of the mission and exhibit body language to signal that relationship, as assurance that she is not available for transfer of “ownership.” Medic is the optimal role for a female in a landing party. Strongly advise against cross gender, cross species interactions, especially touching, unless in the performance of life-saving medical treatment. 

Bladed weapons proficiency for all male landing party members is essential. Although it is unlikely that the average human could best a Capellan in hand-to-hand combat, a negotiator not willing to engage in the dangers of sword play would be seen as unworthy of the High Teër’s attention. For that reason, the skills of male landing party members will be challenged in a contest called a “laïn tant-ul” prior to the start of any serious discussion. The name is roughly translated as “spirit of the blade.” The contest is intended as a test of courage rather than prowess. To refuse the laïn tant-ul is to be considered "chur-rha," a coward.

Strongly advise female landing party members also be proficient with bladed weapons. Little is known about Capellan female-female social discourse, but a skill challenge of some kind would be consistent the pattern of male-male social discourse.

Recommend landing party skills to include epidemiology, xenopathology, ecology/environmental science, xenobotany. 

MISSION PARAMETERS

GOAL

The mission goal is to establish a basis of trust for subsequent negotiation of a topaline mining accord with the Ten Tribes of Capella, represented by the High Teër. 

RECENT DEVELOPMENTS

Capella IV is located in a sector of the Alpha quadrant known to have been trafficked by several warp-capable species. The mission is a so-called “second contact” since UFP observation posts on the planet have found proof of first contact and cultural interference by other space-faring groups, including Klingons and mixed species raiders/scavengers (see Communications section). The latter groups have generally landed on Capella IV for its natural resources (e.g., food, water), although there have been several skirmishes between natives and non-natives in which the Capellans have acquitted themselves well in combat via the kleegat. There is no evidence that warp-capable cultures have provided energy weapons to the Capellans, though they have been exposed to the idea that there are factions among off-worlders. Specifically, the High Teër is aware of the competition for resources between the Klingon Empire and the UFP, see linked audio file. This awareness came from Klingon, not SF, sources. 

Of particular note is a recent proposal by Klingon representatives to take 100 unmarried Capellan warriors off-world to teach them how to use disruptors and other technologically advanced weaponry, in return for service by those warriors as mercenaries for the Klingon Empire for a period of time and a promise that Capellan warriors would keep the disruptors when they return home. During the mercenary period, the Klingon Empire would be given the right to mine topaline. Presentation of the proposal included a demonstration of a disruptor. See linked holovid file. 

The High Teër demanded bat’leths, carried by Klingon security during negotiations, to be given to all Capellan warriors on and off planet at the beginning of the mercenary period. Capellans argued mercenaries should be outfitted with the same bladed weapons as their employers and desired material compensation for the absence of their young males. The request for bat’leths was refused, which was seen as revealing insincerity and condescension on the part of the Klingons. The High Teër and most of the Ahteërs began to refer to Klingons as luüg and turned down the mercenary proposal. 

Klingon negotiators appear to have minimized the significance of the Capellan belief that weaponry which is not labor or skill intensive is a threat to the continued development of the warrior/hunter caste and will, therefore, lead to the dissolution of the Capellan way of life. Since such a belief could have been a basis for agreement, as it is consistent with Klingon tradition, it is hypothesized that inexperienced negotiators represented the Empire on Capella. A priority report has been forwarded to SFI for analysis of Klingon internal political implications associated with the choice of representation and likely reaction to negotiation failure.

A potential contributing factor for failure of the mercenary proposal is that Klingon representatives may have underestimated Capellans’ awareness of and concerns about reduced adult lifespans and increased infant mortality. Linked audio recordings reveal that Capellans are cognizant of the fact that the replacement rate of their population is under stress. Several Ahteër referenced the bat’leth refusal as evidence that mercenaries would be permanently enslaved by the Klingons in order to decimate the Ten Tribes clandestinely and ultimately conquer a severely diminished Capellan population. One Ahteër suggested that the Klingons were responsible for the increased Capellan death rate for this purpose.

After refusal of the mercenary proposal by the High Teër, Klingon representatives withdrew. _USS Farragut_ verified no Klingon battlecruisers in sensor range of Capella IV as of this stardate. SFI analysis indicates Klingon High Command is aware that aggressive action in this sector would likely trigger UPF intervention. However, it is unknown how long the Empire will defer conflict with the UFP over Capella IV in order to gain access to topaline resources.

UFP representatives now have a window of opportunity to negotiate topaline mining rights. Given the poor experience with Klingons, the High Teër is likely to interact with the UFP in at least two stages. The first stage would be establishing a basis of trust between the UFP and the Ten Tribes. Unfortunately, the Klingon Empire has had an opportunity to create an unfavorable impression of the UFP. Strongly recommend a shift away from talk diplomacy to a demonstrative approach. 

OBJECTIVES

With respect to potential UFP assistance that would not constitute cultural interference, attention is directed to the biology/medicine section of this brief. 

  * Capellan infant mortality is rising rapidly. Recommend investigation of causes for this sudden change and identification of strategies for improving infant survival using Capellan resources. 
  * Mortality rate of non-combatant Capellan adults is also rising rapidly. Recommend investigation of causes for this change and identification of strategies for improving longevity using Capellan resources. 



The purpose of examining these health concerns is to find ways of demonstrating the advantages of an alliance with the UFP that are consistent with Capellan culture. 

Landing party leadership should emphasize the UFP commitment to self-governance. Landing party should assess Capellans’ willingness to consider a protectorate status for Capella IV in anticipation of return by Klingons and scavengers/raiders. The concept of a protectorate should be approached with caution as Capellans would take offense if they believed UFP viewed them as incompetent or weak. 

UFP representation earning the status of woüt-friend would greatly increase the likelihood of an agreement for protectorate status and a future mining accord with the Ten Tribes of Capella.

STARFLEET COMMAND

AUTHORIZED STARDATE 2256.278

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ST:TAS episode “How Sharper than a Serpent’s Tooth” (s2e5) features a Capellan power-cat, a sabre tooth tiger with a 2000 volt charge. The Capellans do not use bow/arrows, according to the TOS episode "Friday's Child," and I have incorporated that idea. The power-cat is portrayed as a large animal that, from the looks of it, a kleegat would have little effect on. So, successfully dispatching a power-cat, which a warrior/hunter culture would want to do, would likely have to be done with a sword, at least in part. I couldn't get past the fact that it would be darn near impossible for Capellan warriors to kill a power-cat without electrocuting themselves. Since "I canna change the laws of physics!," I invented another animal.


End file.
